Those born to duty
by Salana Cousland
Summary: The Blight was over, the Mother was dead and the Grey Wardens on their way to recovery, but for those born to duty, it will never be done. Decisions made in battle will haunt both the king and his Cousland wife. Alistair/FCousland/Nathaniel
1. Chapter 1

**_AUTHOR'S PREFACE:_**

_Some readers may already have come across this story published under the pen name 'Sentogray'. That account was irritatingly broken, and rather than continue to wait for support to answer my pleas (maybe, someday), I decided to just make another account and hope for the best. If you have any queries regarding this, please contact the email in my profile (that is the same email used for Sentogray's account that no longer works)._

_Enjoy._

**CHAPTER ONE**

**A surprise visit**

Ferelden breathed a collective sigh of relief… twice.

The archdemon at the forefront of the latest Blight was defeated and the creature known to those who were involved in the following campaign, as the Mother, lay rotting where she had been slain. Few knew that the Warden Commander of the Grey Wardens had spared the life of the one who called himself the Architect; most were simply glad that for now it seemed that the darkspawn had retreated.

It was many months from Denerim, overseeing repairs to the city of Amaranthine and to Vigils Keep, that Salana Cousland finally had time to return to Ferelden's capital.

" Yanno Commander," Oghren mused as they walked their horses through the city gates. " You make the cutest face when you're thinkin' about that royal screw up."

On her other side, Nathaniel Howe, a most unlikely confederate, rolled his eyes.

" That royal screw up my husband?" Salana inquired lightly, far too used to the dwarf's satirical sense of humor to get upset over snide little jabs meant to provoke a reaction.

" You ask me," he continued.

" We're not," Anders dropped; despite fighting side by side in the Deep, the mage and the dwarf had never really warmed to one another.

Oghren simply ignored him and forged onward with his statement.

" You ask me," he repeated. " That Anora wench might have been the better choice."

" Except maybe the part where she worked with her father to destroy all of the Grey Wardens?" Anders sniffed. " Sure, I'd vote for that."

" No one gives a sodding, nugsnuggin' toss what you'd vote for," Oghren grunted.

" I'm sure you were about to make a point Oghren," Salana prompted as they headed for the royal palace.

" I ain't sayin' the woman doesn't have her faults, but let's face it, your boy Alistair ain't exactly a political genius."

" And yet the people seem happy," Salana smiled, casting her eyes around the market quarter.

There was little, if any evidence now, to suggest that the ultimate battle of the Blight had taken place in the city. Buildings stood proud and sturdy; people moved unhampered by fear, seeing to their business, and there were more traders attempting to entice passers by to inspect their wares than Salana had ever seen. There were smiles upon faces that had seen so much horror, and though Salana would not deny that the politics and the intrigue of life in the royal court was far from Alistair's strength, his approach to being king worked well enough.

" Happy _now_," Oghren nodded when they entered the barracks stable yard and dismounted. " But I bet there's already a healthy dose of conspiracy just lookin' for a chance to seize power."

" Not for long if I catch them," Salana declared, and though she smiled as she said this, there was a vicious undercurrent to her tone. " Don't feel like you need to stay here in the barracks," she went on, transferring her gaze to her three companions. " Enjoy your time in the city, for it is a rare privilege."

" Ya mean, get out of your hair so you and his royal eloquence can play hide and seek with the crown jewels?"

Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a slow breath. Anders held his breath, rather hoping that the Commander would backhand the diminutive walking brewery across the yard, but Salana blinked slowly down at the dwarf before offering her measured response.

" Please excuse me. I have some crown jewels to seek."

* * *

There was absolutely no fanfare for their arrival, even though Salana was of course the hero of Ferelden, the Grey Warden Commander and technically the queen. Salana was glad, for the knot in the pit of her stomach was already tight enough without having to smile graciously at two-faced lords and ladies who only wanted her favor for personal gain.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Alistair had been crowned king, so long since she had seen him at the beginning of the campaign against the mother. There had simply been too much for her to do for a return trip to Denerim to be viable, and Alistair had been occupied with restoring confidence in the crown across the kingdom; apparently confidence was fine at Vigils Keep.

As she passed through the corridors of the palace, even as preoccupied as she was with smoothing the frazzled, coiled braid nestled at the back of her head, she noted how hastily the servants got to their feet and then bowed their heads to her. They averted their eyes like they were afraid of her, though she had certainly never given them any cause to; she had even been very careful to remove all traces of blood from her armor.

Even growing up in a noble house, the bowing and scraping of those not born to privilege had never really sat well with her; she would much rather have people show genuine respect if they indeed held her in esteem, instead of observe meaningless platitudes that hid true intent.

The king was not in the throne room when she entered, but that was hardly surprising. Alistair avoided politics as much as he could, delegating responsibility to people he liked to think he could trust. She knew where he would most likely find him, and yet she took the most round-about way to get there.

Why?

How many nights had she laid awake, body weary and heart heavy? How many mornings had she awoken and wallowed in her loneliness?

Too many for a Warden Commander.

So why was she putting of the reunion that she had been longing for?

" Oh, Warden Commander!" Ser Jerome, one of the King's Guard exclaimed when she nearly collided with him. " My apologies."

" Not necessary," she smiled sheepishly. " I should have been looking where I was going."

" If you're looking for his Majesty, he's in the east wing cornered by the Orlesian emissary," Jerome chuckled.

" The Grey Warden, Orlesian emissary?" Salana sought in clarification and suddenly Jerome seemed less sure.

" Ahh, I believe he is, yes my Lady," he nodded, and looked like he might have liked to scowl as a frown bloomed upon Salana's features. " I, it is my understanding that he was to leave for Vigils Keep on the morrow, but was…"

" It's all right Jerome," Salana said, but her tone was thin. " You are not responsible for the movements of the emissary."

Jerome's shoulders relaxed a little and he shifted his weight, indicating that he was eager to get moving again.

" Don't let me keep you," Salana declared, forcing a smile back to her lips. " Carry on."

There was obvious relief in his eyes, as Jerome moved away from her and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Salana to ponder this development. She had known that an emissary from the Grey Wardens in Orlais was on his way to Ferelden, but had been under the impression he would be travelling directly to Vigils Keep to meet with her. Of course Alistair was still a Grey Warden, despite his royal title, but as far as the Wardens of Ferelden were concerned, she was top of the food chain.

With greater impetus she began toward the east wing, not even looking at the two guards standing silently outside one of several rooms designed for diplomatic meetings. They did not move to stop her when she pushed the doors inward, but both men beyond them seemed surprised that they were interrupted.

" Warden Commander," the fully armored Grey Warden said, his thick Orlesian accent betraying his origins. He spoke first, as it seemed the king took longer to gather his thoughts.

" My Lady," he began, the words sounding almost hesitant, before a smile lit up his face and he approached her. " What a pleasant surprise."

" Warden, your Majesty," Salana reciprocated, inclining her head to both.

" Arturu, it is my very great privilege to introduce you to a woman of many titles," Alistair went on, looking back at the Orlesian Warden when he had reached Salana's side. " Lady Salana Cousland of Highever, Ferelden Grey Warden Commander, queen and my wife, the latter being the most important of course."

The king blushed a little; still after all this time, some parts of his rather innocent nature endured despite the rigors of court life and the perils of battles he had faced.

" It is indeed an honour," the Warden, so named Arturu declared, actually bowing as best he could in his heavy plate-mail.

" Likewise," Salana nodded, maintaining formality. "I apologise for the interruption your Majesty," she went on. " I wished only to inform you of my unscheduled arrival, however, a chance encounter with Ser Jerome occasioned me to discovered that the Orlesian Warden emissary set to arrive later this month at Vigils Keep, was already here."

" It was an, unplanned, detour," Arturu explained, but Salana was far from convinced.

" And I will interrupt no longer," Salana declared evenly, though she felt irritation scratching beneath her skin. " By your leave," she then added, unable to keep the ice from her smile as she turned it to Alistair.

A chill that he was not oblivious to.

" Ahh actually, Arturu, it has been many months since I last saw my wife," the king said. " Perhaps you would grant me the indulgence of a little time to…"

" Properly welcome her home?" Arturu filled in, and Salana's brows twitched downward; why did everyone assume that her reunion with Alistair would be nothing by a rampant sex-fest?

" We have a lot to catch up on," Alistair clarified, taking the heat out of Arturu's comment, and the Warden nodded his assent. " Excellent!" Alistair chirped.

With his hand in the middle of Salana's back he nudged her gently towards the door and she moved in that direction.

Despite her armor, somehow he could still feel the tension within her, and why wouldn't there be tension? She had spent the last four months fighting darkspawn and rebuilding a city, not to mention the Grey Warden stronghold of Vigils Keep, and what was her welcome home to Denerim?

In her position, Alistair thought that he would have been angry to find that an emissary of the Grey Wardens in Denerim, rather than first presenting themselves to the one under whose jurisdiction Warden matters truly fell.

They said nothing as they walked down the corridor side-by-side, Alistair's hand sliding down to rest in the small of her back. It was not until they moved out of the east wing, heading towards the residential quarter that Salana sliced through the awkwardness.

" When did our friendly Orlesian emissary arrive?" she inquired quietly, aware of the heavy press of eyes as they passed through one of many common rooms; it was almost as if this was the first time she had been inside the castle and people were unsure why she was really there.

" Two nights ago," Alistair answered, studying her from the corner of his eye with increasing worry; everything about her was straight and rigid, from her posture to the crispness of her voice. Even her eyes were focused ahead of them, fixed there without deviation.

" I dispatched a messenger right away," he rushed, cringing inwardly at how defensive it sounded. " Ha, you probably passed her on the road."

Silence descended once more, a heavy shroud that followed them into the antechamber of the royal bedroom and was punctuated by the closing of doors behind them.

" Have you discerned the purpose behind his, _unplanned detour_?" she asked, turning to look back at her husband.

" You know politics is not my strong suit," he chuckled wryly as he approached, but the slight twitch of her cheeks told him instantly that humor had been the wrong path to take. " I'm sorry," he frowned apologetically, reaching for the fastening of her left pauldron, but she caught his wrist.

The moment endured, her dark brown eyes reflecting the king's image back at him, not allowing him beyond; those were walls he used to know how to scale, and it was not until she exhaled a heavy breath and pressed the back of his hand to her lips, that he knew she wasn't going to just leave him there staring helplessly at the battlements.

" No, I'm sorry," she declared, lowering her chin, wearily giving in to the emotional part of her that she kept buried beneath her Warden Commander attire. " It was disrespectful of me to just storm in here and demand explanations and…"

" Hey," he interrupted, smoothing his free palm against the side of her face. " You are the queen; it is your right to storm in and demand."

She was the queen, but she wasn't apologising on behalf of the part that made her queen and she thought he should have seen that; maybe he did, and simply chose to ignore it?

" I wanted your return to be perfect," he told her, turning her slowly so that he had better access the straps that kept her locked inside her breastplate. " But, as usual, I've made a terrible mess of it."

Her armor pulled apart and revealed the truth of the woman beneath. Alistair remembered those contours well, their shape, the feeling of them beneath his fingertips.

" I had planned an entire festival," he continued merrily as he stripped other pieces of protective metal from her figure. " Parade, singing, dancing… pony rides."

Slowly Salana turned back around, her eyes hard and filled with expectation and the king faltered.

" Euh… you don't like dancing?" he offered.

" Alistair," she said slowly, the word emerging from between her lips woven with restraint. " If you don't kiss me now, ponies, will be the only thing you'll ever get to ride."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**The Truth**

When morning dawned across Denerim, bright, warm patterns shining through the window awoke the slumbering queen of Ferelden. There was peace in her first waking breaths, peace in her muscles and comfort in the weight of her husband's arm that remained draped over her torso.

With his body pressed lightly behind her there was no room for the niggling doubt of the evening prior; though she was sure there was a hint of doubt, of hesitation in the way he kissed her, it was lost to the drowsy recollection of his whispering her name.

" Don't move," he murmured against the back of her head, and his hold on her tightened. " We're not leaving this room for a week… maybe two."

" And I suppose that Ferelden will just run itself?" she smirked, prying his arm away so that she could roll over onto her back.

" I was thinking I would just give the crown to that guy, you know the one with the squinty right eye and the lisp?" Alistair declared, shifting onto one elbow and propping himself up so that he could look down at her.

Salana chuckled and opened her mouth to comment, but the light press of his lips against hers prevented any words from escaping.

" You have no idea how much I've missed you," he breathed soberly when they broke, each word spoken softly against her cheek.

" If it's comparable to how much I missed you then I think I do," she smiled dreamily, reaching up to slide her fingers through his short, strawberry blond hair. " We might need three weeks," she then grinned, gripping a handful at the back of his head as best she could and kissing him hard.

" Majesty!" came a call from the other side of the bedchamber door, and it was followed by the heavy pound of a fist.

" Mmm!" Alistair replied incoherently, and Salana held him for a few seconds longer before surrendering the lower lip her teeth had been pinching. " Ahh, unless this is REALLY important, maybe you could come back say… next month?"

" It's Lady Anora your Majesty," the voice on the other side of the door explained, and this caused Alistair's ears to prick up.

" Anora?" he repeated with apparent puzzlement, and Salana sighed.

" We didn't execute her? Ugh, knew we should have sorted that out; that's what I get for being kind hearted," she muttered before she began a line of kisses up Alistair's throat.

" Well, ah," Alistair struggled, trying to keep a thought in his mind with his wife's hands disappearing beneath the sheets. " Wha… what does she want?"

" She is demanding an audience my Lord," the voice answered. " She is threatening all manner of things if you do not attend."

" Let her threaten," Salana growled, biting down upon Alistair's earlobe, but the king pushed back and sat up. " Oh for love of the Maker, let her wait!" she called out, but scowled as Alistair rose from the bed. " Ah what? You take orders from Anora now?"

" Well, no, but it wouldn't do to have her hurt herself while in our custody would it?" he reasoned, pulling on his pants.

" Which brings me back to why she is still _in _custody," Salana pointed out.

" It was you that spared her her father's fate remember?" Alistair said, fingers fumbling to tie up the neck-laces of his shirt.

" A decision I rue to be sure," she frowned, hissing out an exasperated breath and staring up at the ceiling.

" I, I'm sorry," he rushed, leaning down to peck her quickly on the lips. " Perhaps this shall give you some time to interrogate Arturu?"

Salana just grit her teeth, refusing to watch him cross the chamber and exit. There was again that annoying worm of uncertainty gnawing at the back of her mind. For a long time she remained in bed, darkly pondering and stewing over an interruption that Alistair could have, and should have ignored. Eventually however, she got up and dressed.

She did not, however, make her way to the dining hall in the palace. Instead she headed to the barracks where she found Anders and Oghren finishing breakfast.

" Sleep in did ya?" Oghren snorted suggestively, and even he wished he hadn't when she picked up the mug in front of him and looked like she might brain him with it. Luckily for him, she did not, instead taking a few angry swallows that left her gasping.

" This is water," she coughed, narrowing her eyes at him, clearly insinuating that she had expected it to be something alcoholic in nature.

" It's breakfast," Oghren argued defensively.

" She has a point you know," Anders smirked.

" Why don't you go sprinkle glitter on something Fairy Boy?" the dwarf snapped.

" Warden Commander," Nathaniel greeted briskly, arriving at the table, but it was obvious that he was not going to sit.

" Something wrong Nathaniel?" Salana inquired, though she was truly not in the mood for the kind of petty trouble that sprung up in and around the royal court.

" If I could have a moment of your time?" he asked her, the hedging, tentative nature of his tone implying that he wished that moment to be a private one.

" Don't mind us," Oghren grunted, reaching for another thick hunk of bread.

" Would you like glitter with that?" Anders smirked, and the jagged slice momentarily burst into flame before disintegrating between Oghren's fingers.

Salana frowned and shook her head but stepped away from the table, leaving the dwarf and the mage to destroy each other if they so chose.

" What is it?" she then asked Nathaniel curtly. " The quick and the clear version if you don't mind."

" I fear what I have to tell you," he began, glancing back over at Oghren and Anders before looking back into her face. " Shall not improve a day that has clearly begun poorly."

" You have no idea," she sniffed. " Out with it."

" I went nosing around for information about the Orlesian Warden Arturu," he explained, not probing the depth of her morning's issues; there were larger things afoot. " Aside from the fact that he arrived alone two nights ago and that he won't eat Ferelden cheese, I learned very little about the man."

Salana raised a single eyebrow, a gesture telling Nathaniel to get to the point, and if what he had just said _was_ the point, she was going to be irritated. Whether this was what made the man squirm or not was rather irrelevant; seeing a man like Nathaniel Howe squirm was unsettling in and of itself.

" I… I don't think that there is any way that I can disclose this without…"

" Nathaniel!" she barked, so loud in fact that both Oghren and Anders stopped squabbling and looked over at them.

" There are rumors circulating all throughout the royal estate that Lady Anora has been released from the tower," he declared plainly, but there was still plenty of cringe room left on his face. " And not only that," he persisted, while Salana was still standing upright. " They say his Majesty… that they have been…"

" Do not finish that sentence," Salana hissed sharply, stepping back, but Nathaniel took her arm firmly and finished.

" She is pregnant," he dropped bluntly, releasing her arm slowly.

Salana did not move, not even to blink, not even to breathe.

Across the room Anders and Oghren observed; though they did not hear what Nathaniel had said to her, they had never seen their commander look so pale.

" Rubbish," she said, her voice a thin thread of self-discipline. " Totally… preposterous, and you should know better than to listen to such idle…"

" I have seen her myself," Nathaniel interrupted.

Sucker punch.

" You are mistaken," she whispered.

" Where do you think his Majesty rushed off to this morning when he should have been enjoying time with you?" he pressed, the poison on his blade working its way slowly through her system.

" He," she began, but she had thought no further than that.

" She has been living this last month in her father's old quarters," Nathaniel explained. " And the king of Ferelden is at her beck and call."

" No!" she gasped, but her facial expression had not changed; she wore a mask made of stone that revealed nothing, even if the sudden pounding of her heart betrayed her denial.

" Ask him," Nathaniel hissed, giving her a nudge. " If he loves you as he says he does then you will know a lie from his mouth."

" And I suppose you know all about love Nathaniel _Howe_?" she volleyed, a low blow that he took on the chin because he knew that he was right, and knew what it meant that he was right.

" Prove me wrong, I pray you do," he insisted. " For I may once have considered you my enemy Commander, but no more. You _have_ been betrayed."

Swallowing, Salana just stood there, submerged beneath the icy water and struggling to reach the surface.

Could it truly be? Was that the pause before he kissed her, the faint flash of caution in his eyes? Was that the reason behind his hasty exit from their bedchamber, at the will of a woman condemned for her part in the attempted destruction of the Grey Wardens?

When she exited the barracks it was with slow measured steps. If she moved any faster she was sure she would, as some dwarves believed, fall into the sky. She could seek out Loghain's old quarters and see for herself but she could not bring herself to do it. Instead she wandered in a daze, trapped by the subconscious belief that if she saw neither Alistair nor Anora, then there was simply no possibility that what Nathaniel had said was true.

Alas, it was the Maker's will.

Ser Jerome and the king exited from one of the north corridors into the courtyard, and it was too late to retreat. Perhaps the furtive, sideways glance the knight made at the king told her enough, told her that even his knights knew, but that was purely conjecture. There was, however, confirmation in Alistair's eyes.

All the way across the courtyard he could see that she had heard.

Was it merely dismay that there were such terrible falsehoods in circulation, and that she should have to suffer the indignity of hearing them that caused his gaze to fall?

No.

All trust.

All love.

It was written on his face.

" My Lady?" came a deep, accented voice behind her, breaking the distant, silent deadlock, but Salana did not turn to converse with the Orlesian Warden.

She turned on her heal and made haste her escape back the way she had come.

" Salana!" Alistair called out, suddenly broken free of that shameful spell that had held him, and at a dead run he pursued her, much to the bemusement of the Warden. " Sod it," the king cursed, struggling to catch up, but in her haste his wife had turned into a room that had but one exit. " Salana stop," he panted, but it was redundant now for she had nowhere to go with him standing in the doorway.

Desperately she appealed to Cailan for help, but he simply smiled down at her from his portrait, a smile far too much like Alistair's for it to be of any comfort.

" I would ask you," Salana began in a quiet voice, sure the world would shatter if she raised it any higher. " If… If it is true," she went on, a strangled, pathetic sound, and gathering all the courage she possessed she turned around. " But I don't need to, it's right there in your eyes."

" Let me explain," he begged, approaching her slowly with his hands pressed together.

" Oh please do," she nodded emphatically. " Because the whys and wherefores of wrongdoing really do make the tale."

" Please," he implored.

" Tell me it was mages, tell me… tell me you were under a spell," she rushed with a sudden flurry of angry, animated gestures. " Tell me that she is a desire demon and you were simply powerless before her, _convince me_, it was not your fault."

" I," Alistair began, but he faltered at the next part; he had not set out to hurt her, had certainly not intended to get Anora pregnant, but there they were and he had done both. " I can't," he admitted shamefully, forcing himself to look her in the face, for at the very least he owed her that. " I thought that I was strong enough in my conviction to, to take the role asked of me, to serve my duty as well as cope with the endless, burning desire to bathe in your presence," he continued, his eyes stinging. " But each day without you felt more and more hollow until…"

" You don't think that I pined for you too?" she glowered, her tears finally spilling against flushed cheeks. " You don't think that there were nights when the pain was so acute, that I wondered if I'd have been better off dying with the archdemon?"

" I wasn't saying that you haven't suffered, I just…"

" Realised you had a busty wench locked away in the tower and figured that she would do?" Salana spat, venom sharpening her tongue.

" No… ugh no!" Alistair blinked like she had slapped him and perhaps she ought to have. " I thought, what with everyone always reminding me how poor I am at politics, that perhaps she could teach me a few… things."

Oh, how he wished he had worded that differently.

" And did she Alistair?" Salana snarled. " Were you planning to show me your new moves, or was I just lucky you remembered to whisper _my_ name last night?"

Not a single part of him wanted to rise in retaliation to her response, because he knew he deserved it.

" There is no excuse for what I have done," he acknowledged, spreading his hands, away from his center mass like he was giving her free reign to drive her sword through his heart. " I was, lonely and miserable and… weak."

" You always said you would need to have children," she declared, trying to draw herself back from rage to somewhere more solid, somewhere that the ground did not feel as if it would open up and swallow her whole. " Congratulations," she coughed out and sidestepped, intent on the door.

" Salana please," he entreated once more, taking her upper arm, but she swung quickly around and slammed her balled fist into his face. The impact was so hard that he was thrown back into a chair that capsized, toppling him backwards and sprawling onto the floor.

" Please _WHAT_ you miserable bastard?" she roared, but she did not wait for his answer, stalking from the room.

Alistair just lay there on his back, stars circling his field of vision.

When they disappeared, Cailan was smiling down at him.

It was clear that by the time Salana returned to the barracks, that Nathaniel had informed both Anders and Oghren of his findings. It was nearly noon, however, far longer than he had expected it to take her to confront the king and decide what to do about it. That she had emerged from the palace at all suggested that she had either chosen not to slay the king for his infidelity or, had killed the king and everyone else who got in her way.

" Are the horses are ready?" she asked him staunchly as she drew within earshot, and Nathaniel nodded.

" Are we needin' to make a hasty get away Commander?" Oghren inquired with his usual amount of tact and Anders went so far as to smack him on the back of the head. " Do that again and you'll be Sparkle Stumps," the dwarf warned.

" Shut up Oghren," Nathaniel snapped as Salana entered the stable, and he turned to follow.

" Hey, I'm just sayin' that if my wife broke her vows, there wouldn't be much left of either of 'em," Oghren snorted, but Salana was thankfully out of range.

" So where are we going?" Nathaniel asked as Salana opened up a stall and led her horse from it.

" Orlais," she responded, her tone devoid of all emotion.

" Orlais?" Nathaniel blinked.

" The Orlesian emissary's official directive was to personally arrange for a Ferelden Warden party to meet with the Warden Commander and the King in Orlais," she clarified. " And we're going, is that clear enough?"

Nathaniel nodded and opened up the stall for his own horse. Of course he wanted to know what had happened with the king, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask her. She had retreated, he could see that, so far inside herself that most of what could be seen on the outside was automated, driven by practice and instinct; it hurt less in that place, provided you could stay that way and he knew, you couldn't stay that way forever.

" Get on your horses," Salana barked, swinging into the saddle the moment that she exited the stable. " Arturu has business here to conclude but will meet us tomorrow at Peak's Farm on the North Road and we sail west from Highever to Orlais."

That was it; that was all they got before she clattered out of the yard, Nathaniel not far behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Cheap wine and Chevaliers**

The road to Peak's Farm was not littered with the group's usual banter, though occasionally Oghren would get that look on his face like he was about to make a wholly inappropriate comment. Luckily, it seemed that either Anders or Nathaniel managed to catch him before he could send Salana into a berserker rage.

She sat alone that night, outside the farmhouse just staring into the distance, and not even Nathaniel dared disturb her. Instead, he maintained his vigil from just inside.

There was the woman who had killed his father, the woman who he had once blamed for the destruction of his family and the besmirching of the Howe name. She was not that woman though, any more than his father had been a _good_ man, and he had long since reconciled this fact.

Given what his family had done to hers, she had had every justification to execute him on the spot at Vigils Keep; he had, after all, gone there to kill her. She had chosen to conscript him instead, a fact that had initially compounded his hatred, but fighting beside her for a cause that would win her no true personal gain had opened his eyes.

The young noble Cousland had come so far from the murder of her family in Highever; survived Teryn Loghain's betrayal at Ostagar and fought through droves of darkspawn terror to offer herself up to the archdemon in one final act of selflessness.

How she survived was a wonder, unexplained, but it was hardly the point.

She should have been allowed to be happy after that, she had earned it, but with the Grey Wardens in tatters someone of high moral caliber had to step up. Nathaniel could see that she had given and given and given of herself and now, the king of Ferelden had taken that very last piece and tossed it to that rabid bitch to be torn to shreds.

It was strange how loyalty worked. Nathaniel thought that he owed his family to fight for retribution simply because he carried his father's name, but the Warden Commander had earned his respect, and that was something by far more powerful.

" You gonna just stand there all night watchin' her or are you gonna go comfort the girl like a real man?" Oghren said from behind him, and Nathaniel just blinked at him in response. " Oh don't gimme none of that innocent crap," the dwarf grunted, waving his hand. " You've been at her heals like a loyal mabari for a month now just waitin' for the chance to hump her leg, and when it presents itself you do what? Wallow in her misery like it's your own? Ha!"

" You really have respect for no one and nothing do you?" Nathaniel dropped.

" Oh don't get all righteous on me boy, we all know you're a Howe," Oghren countered, hapless or perhaps thinking himself impervious to, any physical retaliation Nathaniel might attempt. " You think I don't respect her because I'm not all cut up and weeping about her love life like Princess Magic over there?"

" I'm not weeping!" Anders exclaimed indignantly, but Oghren ignored him and continued.

" Think she needs us actin' like a bunch of prissy women like the two faced banshee that stole her man? Ha, I think not."

" And you think that me humping her leg is what she DOES need?" Nathaniel questioned, though he didn't really want the answer.

" Leg's about as high as I can manage, but I'm thinkin' you could do better than that," the dwarf nodded.

" You know if I had daughters, Oghren," Anders put in snidely. " I'd want them to marry someone just like you."

" As if you'd ever get a woman agree to make babies with you wearin' a frock like that," Oghren snorted.

" I'll have you know that this robe is of the finest..." Anders began, but cut himself off when he realised that was just the sort of answer that would provoke Oghren further.

" You should all turn in," Salana said when she entered, continuing to speak as she walked quickly across the living space towards one of several bedrooms. " It will be a long ride to Highever."

No one responded and she disappeared, closing the door behind her.

" It ain't too late for you to follow her," Oghren pointed out, but Nathaniel only shook his head and headed into a separate room.

* * *

The Warden party was woken just before dawn by the arrival of Arturu. He was also clearly aware of the situation they left behind in Denerim; Nathaniel could tell by the way the Orlesian was studying Salana, looking for cracks.

If there were any, Nathaniel couldn't see them as they began their journey toward Highever. He did not know if she intended to see her brother while they were there, but suspected that she would avoid the last of her remaining family. It would not take long now for the royal scandal to spread to all corners of the kingdom, and Nathaniel did not know Fergus Cousland well enough to know how he might react.

Salana spared little talk for the Orlesian and kept all conversations initiated by him as short as she could. She did not press him for details as he thought she might, thought she should, but perhaps she was just fearful that she might say something that would give herself away.

As it was, she sat tall in the saddle despite their swift pace, and her face was set in a determined expression. She was every inch the warrior in appearance that the stories said she was, but he knew that appearances could be deceiving.

She was, after all, a woman.

As the nights passed Nathaniel noticed no change in her demeanor, not even when they reached Highever and met with the ship that would take them west on the Waking Sea to Orlais.

The most she did was stare up at the keep, allowing herself a wistful moment that the men did not interrupt.

The closer they got to the coast of Orlais, around the top of the Frostback Mountains, the most confident the Orlesian Warden became; his inquiries became less subtle, more brazen.

" I am surprised at you Warden Commander," he said cheerfully, joining her at the bow, perfectly aware of her constant shadow leaning 'casually' against the railing a small distance away. " So long from Denerim and yet so quick to leave."

" I go where duty calls me Warden," she said evenly, but inwardly she considered how quickly he would sink if she pushed him overboard; he had been the only one who had not removed his armor for the sea leg of their journey.

" Ahh yes, your reputation for dutiful sacrifice has reached far into Orlais," Arturu nodded appreciatively. " You are an inspiration to many."

" I try to do what is right," she declared. " For no other purpose than that."

" You are too modest," he persisted. " His Majesty is lucky to have so exceptional a wife."

At that, Nathaniel pushed away from the rail and skipped up the stairs; if the commander DID crack and shove the guy form the boat, they weren't exactly going to be welcomed when they docked in Orlais.

" He did speak very highly of you," Arturu continued. " Though you understand his _other_ responsibilities left him little time to regale the stories of your great triumph."

" And what of your responsibilities Arturu?" Nathaniel inquired, trying to moderate his tone. " You've said little about the reason behind your request for Ferelden Grey Wardens to visit your capital."

" Well despite the good work of your Warden Commander, the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are still very much depleted. We thought perhaps you could use some assistance in developing strategies for replenishing the ranks."

" While we surely appreciate such an offer," Salana began. " Is it not an offer that could have been made to me in Ferelden?"

" Indeed," Arturu chuckled. " If you would allow me to finish your Majesty."

Salana's teeth clicked together loudly, but the Orlesian continued.

" Though the Deep Roads are considered, for the sake of argument rather than as a matter of pure geography, to exist entirely in Ferelden, there are many caverns and tunnels leading out into Orlais from which darkspawn have been seen emerging."

" Lately?" Salana frowned.

" Obviously the Blight and its archdemon concentrated its attack on Ferelden, however a damaging number of darkspawn spilled into Orlais wreaking havoc. Their number did dwindle after you destroyed the monster and continued to decline until two months ago."

" You have already pointed out that Grey Warden numbers in Ferelden are small compared to those in Orlais," Salana pointed out. " And so it is not a request for reinforcements you're seeking obviously."

" Not as such," Arturu nodded. " We are seeing something that we have not seen before, darkspawn that speak, that think, that rationalize."

Salana inhaled a quick breath and Arturu noted it, made her pay for it.

" I see that you have also encountered this anomaly."

" If you didn't already know that I had, I doubt very much you'd have been sent on this mission," she sniffed.

" We have our own theories, that Warden Commander Albain will elaborate on when we reach the capital, but I can say now that we have been disturbed that those Grey Wardens who have fallen to this new breed of darkspawn are not left to be buried by their kinsmen; they are taken."

Salana exhaled and rubbed the back of her neck, looking from Arturu to Nathaniel and back again.

" You too," she frowned.

Nathaniel knew what it meant as well as Salana did; he had been there when the Architect had given his explanation as to what effect upon the darkspawn Grey Warden blood had, and now it seemed that he had continued his experiments in Orlais.

And they let him go.

" You think then that we may have some insight into this?" Salana prompted and Arturu nodded.

" Perhaps it is the Maker's will that it is you who accompanies me home, and not some random Grey Warden no?"

" You are very fortunate," Nathaniel agreed, making it very clear that he thought Arturu should indeed be thankful for such good fortune.

" We will help in any way that we can," Salana assured, and it was clear that was the end of the conversation.

As the sun began to set and Oghren had challenged Arturu to a drinking contest, Nathaniel joined Salana once more on the deck.

" I do not need another shadow Nathaniel," she said, not taking her eyes of the choppy horizon. " I already have one."

" Maybe you do… need one," he responded slowly, moving in beside her, shoulders nearly touching.

" You must have mistaken my desire for solitude, for a desperate cry for company," she dropped flatly.

" Oh no, I can see that you're busy hiding from your emotions over here, quietly," he countered flippantly.

" Excuse me?" she blinked, now turning her scowl in his direction.

" Do you think that the Architect is responsible for the disappearing Wardens in Orlais?" he asked her frankly, peering back at her like she wasn't indignant about his prying.

She withheld her answer a moment as she wrestled down the urge to slap him.

" It seems likely," she said eventually and then let out a huff. " That's what I get for taking a darkspawn at his word."

" It wasn't just your decision you know," he pointed out. " Yes in the end you could have overruled any one of us but…"

" If I remember correctly, Anders was quite vocal about his disagreement," she pointed out.

" Ahh, well, you can probably expect a big fat I told you so from him," Nathaniel admitted wryly.

" You're really bad at pep talks you know that?"

" There isn't a single Warden in all of Ferelden that would question you Salana," he insisted more soberly. " You're our leader, and we will follow you anywhere, even though we know that you are not perfect."

" Yeah," Salana exhaled. " And I'm sure there are any number of Orlesian Wardens who would attest to that, or they would if they were still alive."

" You're really bad at accepting pep talks you know that?" he chuckled and he was rewarded when she smiled, even if it was weary. " We'll find the Architect and make sure that he is not a threat to anyone, in Orlais or Ferelden, and then…"

" No and then," she broke in, looking back to sea. " Let's just focus here and now."

There was no one waiting for them at the port of Le Gendeaux in Calais where they disembarked late in the evening.

" This ship is too large to travel directly into Val Royeaux," Arturu explained and led them to La Couronne Taverne where they stabled their horses. " Relax, have a drink. Tomorrow we complete our journey. It is a pleasant morning's ride to Val Royeaux."

" What kind of name is Val Royeaux?" Oghren grunted as they entered the main part of the tavern, where they were greeted by what one might have expected by a dockside inn. " You don't think that sounds a little, fruity to you?"

Nathaniel just shrugged.

" You're right, Gaiety Queen's the one to ask," the dwarf nodded, and Anders turned to glare at him.

" I'm getting really tired of…" he began, but Oghren was grinning from ear to ear.

" How'd ya know I was referin' to you?"

" Maker give me strength," the mage whispered under his breath as Salana followed Nathaniel to a scrap littered, but otherwise unoccupied table.

" Careful Sweetness," Oghren went on, glancing back at Anders. " Lotta boys in here looking for some skirt."

" Ha. Ha. Ha," Anders scoffed. " Go ahead and ignore the fact that you stand the perfect height for…"

" Anders," Salana dropped before she sat and leaned back against the wall.

She inhaled a deep breath of stale, testosterone filled air and released it with her eyes closed.

" Yanno Commander," Oghren began again, looking around as Nathaniel headed for the bar. " Besides Magic Betty there and the bar wenches you're the only woman in here."

" We were thinking the same, thing," a deep Orlesian accented voice declared, and Salana opened her eyes and looked up at the group of three, very large men.

They were clearly nobles, determinable by the quality of their attire alone, and though they were not wearing full armor they were also most certainly. Their postures were full of arrogance and entitlement; they were the kind of men who were used to getting what they wanted without argument.

" And what does that tell you, my lords?" Salana inquired, enough respect in her tone for addressing strangers who had not introduced themselves, as well as just enough edge to insinuate that she was not the swooning type.

Anders, however, looked about for where Arturu had gone, only to find the Orlesian Warden nowhere to be seen.

" That you are a long way from home," the closest knight answered plainly, stepping around the end of the table.

At the other end, Anders moved to rise, but Oghren put his hand on the mage's arm firmly.

" Just watch," the dwarf snickered, holding Anders a moment longer before leaning back in his chair. " Those chevaliers don't stand a chance."

" Well I've seen her kill her fair share," Anders frowned. " But you don't think that the chivalrous thing to do would be to help?"

" Better she find an outlet for her anger in them than us," Oghren pointed out, and Anders had to admit he had a point, a point emphasised when one of the three men went sliding the length of the table and ended up with his head in Ander's lap.

" See what I see ya?" Oghren laughed. " Skirt."

The two chevaliers that remained standing blinked at the woman who had disposed of their compatriot with such disrespect, and they were not the only ones. All around the tavern eyes had turned and a stunned silence smothered all joviality.

" _Woman_," one of the two growled at Salana, both of them reaching slowly for their swords. " Foreigner or no, you will pay your respects to a chevalier when he…"

" Orelsian or no," Nathaniel hissed at the man's back, unseen it seemed even in the silence, until he was right behind him with his dagger to his ribs. " You _will_ pay your respects to the Grey Warden Commander when _she_ spares your life."

If Salana was angry or insulted that Nathaniel had intervened, her expression did not show it. In her eyes there was a terrible storm that threatened to break upon them all, a rage yet to be expressed that had nothing to do with the inappropriate advances of the chevaliers.

" This, is a Grey Warden Commander?" the knight inquired, his tone mindful of how close Nathaniel's blade was to breach.

" _The_ hero of Ferelden," Anders put in, plenty brave with the burly chevaliers now under control.

" Yanno, archdemon slayer? Blight ender?" Oghren added whimsically, before disappearing inside his mug of ale.

The air pulsed with sudden awe, despite the rather casual way that Salana's colloquial titles had been thrown about, but it was obvious to her that the chevaliers were not so much impressed as irked that their sport for the evening turned out to be… formidable.

" I am here at the request of your Empress and the Warden Commander of Orlais," she said, her tone that which she adopted when addressing her own troops; there was no room for discussion, you followed orders and that was it. " But if you intend to press against my good nature, chevaliers or not, diplomacy ends here."

The flames in her eyes told just as much as her words. Somehow she seemed bigger than she truly was, as if at any moment a dragon might spring up from behind her and devour anyone who dared challenge.

They struggled to decide how to react. In front of so many common folk they could hardly back down; their pride was at stake. Still, the ramifications of further confrontation with this woman, if she was indeed who she said she was , could be most unpleasant.

" No harm done, Warden Commander," the front most chevalier said finally, and the room finally took a breath. " We simply came to welcome you to Orlais."

" And a warm welcome it was," Salana responded, her eyes flickering to Nathaniel who stepped back and sheathed his dagger. " Why don't you buy us a round and join us for some _civilized_ conversation?"

Her offer was emphasised by the sound of Oghren shoving their unconscious compatriot off the table. He groaned and rolled onto his back, and it seemed that the other two were just going to leave him there.

" Marceau!" the closest chevalier prompted loudly and the barkeep almost snapped to attention. " A bottle of your finest for our Ferelden_ friends_."

" Just one? Oghren snorted, but Salana sat down.

" Sadly we have, business to attend to," the chevalier continued, nodding his head to his friend, who grabbed his semi-conscious confederate and dragged him to his feet.

To that Salana did not respond, and as all three chevaliers exited the tavern she had to wonder if the suddenly absent Arturu had set up this little interlude in order to see how she would react. Perhaps that was paranoid thinking, but it was apparent by his expression that Nathaniel was indulging in similar thoughts.

" Is this the first time you have been to Orlais?" he asked her, disregarding the half dressed woman who brought the bottle to Oghren's eager hands.

" Yes," she replied plainly. " Are we having fun yet?"

" Oh I don't know," he smirked roguishly. " The chevalier's reputation for ill treatment of the common person is well known, despite how honored or knightly they might be in other areas; I'd say you made a few friends here."

" And a few enemies," she pointed out. " But what else is new."

" At least…" he began, but his sentence ceased when both he and Salana were covered with a spray of red wine that had been spit from Oghren's mouth and managed a quite impressive distance down the table.

" _Best_ bottle?" he coughed and spluttered, completely oblivious, or unconcerned about, the state of the dripping pair. " I wouldn't feed that to my worst enemy! Uh… Anders, try this."

" You're out of control you know that?" Anders grumbled. " Conduct unbecoming right Commander?"

" Darkspawn blood is one thing, but this is disgusting," Salana muttered, heading for the stairs and Nathaniel watched her, rising and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand before glowering at Oghren.

" All part of the plan boy," Oghren called after him, giving him a suggestive nod, but Nathaniel just shook his head.'

* * *

Trying not to allow the indignation of the chevaliers assumptions get the better of her temper, or the considerable regurgitated wine saturation of her tunic, Salana began to strip away her clothes in her upstairs room. Each item she removed showed a little more skin, revealing a little more of the tale of her life etched therein. Though far form a patchwork quilt, each scar that marred the tanned surface of her body reminded her of something.

Fingertips traced the small horizontal line against her ribcage just below her right breast; a Genlock arrow had remained stuck there for two days because Wynne had been knocked unconscious, and had it been removed before a true spirit healer had been present she would surely have perished. That light brush moved downwards as Salana followed their progress on her reflection in the full length mirror. There was a long, slender indentation running diagonally across her upper thigh, and to its recollection Salana emitted a contemptuous snort; Zevran. She had spared his life, even though he had been sent my Teryn Loghain to kill her, and ultimately he betrayed her good will to save himself. It hadn't worked of course, but he left his mark upon her just the same.

As she lifted her chin and slid the last of her undergarments over her head, it was a mark so seemingly insignificant that captured her focus completely. It was the type of scar one would never see unless they knew it was there, but it now stood out to Salana as if it slashed across her entire torso, angry and red.

She had been so sure at the time that she could carry the weight of Alistair's massive Templar armor, and despite his skepticism he had helped her don the enormous breastplate. Of course the moment he rested it upon her shoulders she collapsed, her legs simply unable to bear the load. They had laughed and laughed as she struggled about on the ground until finally Alistair helped her sit up, only then discovering that the pin from one of the fastening buckles had embedded itself in her shoulder.

Touching the blemish Salana remembered how the light had fled Alistair's face when he realised she was bleeding, the concern in his eyes and the guilt at being the cause of it.

It hadn't hurt then, but it did now, more than any other wound she had ever sustained.

" Commander," Nathaniel's voice cut through her solemn recollection, but his voice came through the door unceremoniously with the rest of his body. " I just," he continued and then for obvious reasons, stopped dead in his tracks.

He should have looked away, should have apologised immediately, but he couldn't. She did not seem startled by his abrupt entrance; she did not flinch, or cry out in embarrassment, despite the fact that she could see his gaze fixed upon her naked reflection.

" You just?" she prompted, turning to the side to take up the plain white shift she had dragged from her pack earlier.

Nathaniel swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to answer as she lifted her arm and allowed the weight of the cloth to pull itself down around her shapely figure.

" I just," he began again, unable to hide the sudden dryness of his throat. " Spoke with Arturu. He said he went to arrange a messenger to ensure that we were expected tomorrow."

Salana grunted, pulling free the leather strap at the bottom of her braid and untangling her hair.

" Be prepared to run the gauntlet," she declared. " No doubt the Empress is looking to test what strength there is in Ferelden's Wardens."

" Among other things," he nodded, trying to pull himself together, but the image of her just standing there calmly was now burned into his memory. " From what I know, the Empress is quite a scholar."

" Darkspawn are easy to combat," she exhaled, brushing out her hair like any woman might before bed, long mahogany waves that tickled the small of her back. " But swords and shield are of little use against philosophers and politicians."

" We're not all as inept as," Nathaniel began without even thinking, but managed to somewhat salvage his comment. " Oghren."

" Do not drink yourself too late into the night Nathaniel," she then instructed, once again beginning to bind her locks.

" You are turning in already?" he perked, but he was not blind to the weariness in her expression as she turned to face him once more.

" Sometimes there is more comfort in the darkness, than in the light," she told him, saying so much more than that mere sentence.

Acknowledging this Nathaniel inclined his head and began to back out of the room.

" Rest well Commander," he bid, and when she offered him a thin smile, he stepped into the corridor and closed her door.

He doubted, after that, he would be getting any sleep at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**Dreams and realities**

_The fanfare was over, they were married and she was now queen, and when Salana rose slowly from the depths of sleep to greet the morning she felt light as a feather. There was nothing in her world now that did not make sense; everything had its place and she a place in it._

_It was almost strange not to feel the pressure of imminent death, foreign for muscles to not feel tense and ready to shift at any moment to avoid the swift fall of an axe blade or worse._

_With a sleepy smile she rolled over and opened her eyes, eyes that stung when met with the light streaming through the window. A figure stood there, shirtless and apparently impervious to the chill of the room. Wide shoulders reminded her that despite his faults, he had fought hard beside her, with her, for her. Like her own, his skin also mapped out the perils of their adventures together, some inflicted by darkspawn, others, like the faint red scratches down his shoulder blades, made by someone much closer to his heart._

" _Come back to bed Alistair," she murmured, stretching out her hand like she could reach it all the way across the room._

" _Do you ever wonder if you were wrong?" he asked, not turning around, and Salana dropped her arm into the imprint left his body on the bed beside her._

" _Wrong about what?" she exhaled, stretching a moment before sliding her legs out from beneath the blankets._

" _Everything," he clarified, still with his back to her. " Becoming a Grey Warden, supporting me as king… falling in love."_

" _Like I had any choice about that last part," she chuckled, not at all concerned about the grave nature of his tone._

_The smooth stones were icy beneath her bare feet, and she hopped comically across the room until she could slide her arms around his waist._

" _You don't regret making me sleep with Morrigan to save your own life?" he perked, his own hands resting against the window sill, even as she had rest her cheek against his back._

" _What?" she coughed, feeling the sting in that question like a poisoned dart. " Wha… make you? I asked you to, and not just for me for both of us. One of us was going to have to slay the archdemon if Riordan failed, it could just as easily have been you."_

" _What about not killing the Architect?" Alistair pressed on, remaining still, even as Salana's hands moved back and fell away. " Don't you feel guilty about all those Grey Wardens who are dead now because you let him go?"_

" _Alistair," she scowled, taking him by the shoulder and forcing him to turn._

_His body moved, but blurred as it rotated, and when Salana was able to fix him properly in her gaze once more, it was not Alistair at all._

_The awkward slant of the creature's face, the gaunt stretch of its skin and the calm way it peered down at her caused Salana to stumble a step back with a gasp._

" _Would you break your word, Warden Commander?" the Architect inquired, the voice of reason despite the shell from whence it originated. " Would you hunt me now for a kingdom not even your own?"_

_

* * *

_

Salana knew that Nathaniel had seen the way her eyes squinted as they rode toward Val Royeaux, but he couldn't have known why. She was not sure what disturbed her more about her dream, the sound of Alistair's voice asking her those questions, or that the Architect knew she was coming; she did not doubt her blood-ties with the darkspawn were responsible for her vision, and suspected that the Architect had a similar link with her for the same reason.

Perhaps it would make it easier to hunt him, or, if he could see so easily into her heart, into her doubts, maybe he would use that to evade her. These were thoughts that she kept to herself, guarded carefully against prying eyes and inquiring minds.

When the spires of Val Royeaux drew closer Salana forced her thoughts to the city. She busied herself with a study of architecture and citizen attire as Arturu led them through the streets. There was something distinctly romantic about the sweeping arches and delicate ironwork, and though, like any city, she caught fleeting glances of unsavory characters, the people seemed content.

Clearly Arturu was taking them on the most scenic route to the palace, but Salana did not mind. Oghren on the other hand could not help ogle the beautiful natives and bait Anders over how sexy he'd look in a boned silk bustier.

" Are you hitting on me?" the mage inquired, sultry in tone for extra effect.

" I'd rather wax my sister's…"

" Is she as sweet and innocent as you?" Anders perked. " Maybe you could introduce us?"

" The Empress will see you immediately, such is the seriousness of the situation," Arturu declared when they passed through the palace gates and were met at the stairs by a contingent of attendants. " Unless you would like a little time to freshen up."

" I'm not here to play courtesan," she told him stiffly as she dismounted. " If your empress wanted fresh meat for her chevaliers, then she invited the wrong Warden."

" Of course not my Lady, after all you are not just any Warden," he noted, but his tone was once again laced with subtle insult; she was a queen whose king had nothing to say on the matter of his wife riding back into battle for another nation, a nation Ferelden's enemy not so long ago.

She did not react, absorbing affront, and simply waited for him to lead on into the palace.

There was no shortage of finery; in truth the lavish halls put those of the castle in Denerium to shame, though Salana thought it to be too busy for her tastes. Like most places of great wealth, the halls were far too wide, and the rooms far too big for those who dwelt there to ever fill them. Warmth was sought in garish furniture and golden fretwork, elaborate statues and pedestals boasting idols of victory and affluence. The Orlesians would have said it spoke of their rich culture, of their refined tastes, but to Salana it felt empty and fake.

There was something by far more honest about old, worn leather and the scent of horses.

Massive carved doors inlaid with the image of the former emperor and his wife, warned the Warden party that they neared their destination, and guards pushed them inward. Even on well oiled hinges the sound of those doors shifting echoed around the chamber beyond. They were greeted by a room filled with light, glowing beams filtering through the filigree swirled glass dome above, and glittering from precious gems embedded in the very stones they walked upon.

Denerim had been all but decimated, but the Blight had not touched Val Royeaux.

" Andraste's grace," Anders exhaled as they entered, and he found himself squinting to try and focus upon the petite figure who sat upon the throne at the far end. Thin shafts of illumination created a radiant frame around her, a lambent archway that made her skin appear like the finest porcelain, and her long dark hair as black as pitch. From that faultless mask, equally as dark eyes examined the approaching group, and with the knowledge that she had faced much worse than this doll-like ruler, Salana reciprocated.

" To her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene the first, I present Queen and Warden Commander of Ferelden, her royal Majesty Salana Cousland," Arturu declared, his voice ringing loud and clear.

Salana bowed her respects, but it was a far cry from the genuflection the empress was no doubt used to.

" I shall admit, your Majesty," the empress began, her words thick with the trademarks of her homeland, so much so that even Salana struggled to make sense of her words. " That when I requested Grey Wardens consult on our current quandary, I did not expect the hero of Ferelden herself."

Nathaniel dared not blink, lest the angelic apparition before him disappear, but he did not miss the variation in the empress' intonation that suggested she already knew well enough why Salana herself had come.

" The threat of the darkspawn belongs to no one nation, your Majesty," Salana declared as she took a small step forward.

" Indeed," the perfect woman responded with a gracious smile, and though behind her, Salana just knew both Anders and Oghren relaxed; they might have swooned had they not feared Salana's wrath. " But we are still most grateful, and honored that you have seen fit to personally address this peril. Your king, your husband, is kind to spare you."

Of course it was redundant to state that Alistair was her husband, as the empress had already shown she knew that Salana was queen; that was not, however, the point. Though this woman and her unearthly visage had requested aid, it seemed that she could not help but act upon her disdain; the shame King Maric had visited upon Orlais when he freed Ferelden from occupation, still whispered in the back of her mind.

Nathaniel might have responded on Salana's behalf, a viperous retort teetering precariously on the tip of his tongue, but he did not wish to break her concentration.

" His Majesty is also a Grey Warden," Salana said diplomatically. " He has as much love for the darkspawn as do I."

" And we are blessed for that fact," Celene smiled benevolently. " I wish I could offer you greater comforts and time to rest your travel weary souls, but Warden Commander Albain is eager to speak with you."

Through an archway to the empress' left, three men entered, the front most wearing armor very similar to Salana's.

" Then by your leave, your Majesty," Salana inclined her head, before turning to the man who was most certainly Warden Commander Albain.

The empress said no more, but all in Salana's party could feel the touch of her gaze against their skin as they departed.

" If that wasn't the most beautiful thing I ever saw," Oghren said quietly as they followed Salana and the Orlesian Warden Commander toward the barracks. " I'll eat Anders' frilly pink knickers."

" I'm not wearing knickers," Anders smirked.

" No creature is that fair by nature's hand alone," Nathaniel mused softly and Oghren looked up at him skeptically, before indicating at Salana's back with his gaze.

" You sure about that?"

" We were aided in Denerium by an Orlesian Warden by the name of Riordan Commander," Salana said as they entered his office in the barracks. " Did you know him?"

" He went in search of Duncan," Albain confirmed. " I take it he met his end?"

" Though the final blow against the archdemon was not his," Salana nodded slowly. " It was he who forced the monster to ground that others might finish the job."

" Others your Majesty?" he perked, crossing the room to his desk where he rolled out a map of the realm. " Have I been misinformed? Was it not your sword stroke that ended the Blight?"

" That victory does not belong to me alone Commander," she chuckled, easily deflecting what was the beginnings of yet another probe into how exactly she had managed to survive. " And please, I shall not take offence if you dispense with royal title; here I am just another Grey Warden."

" If that is your wish, Salana," he nodded, more than aware that his subtle inquiry had been directed elsewhere. " As I am sure that Arturu has told you, we have been encountering a new type of darkspawn."

" I am familiar with them," Salana nodded, stepping forward to peer at the map and the three men did the same.

" They first attacked a group of Wardens sent to secure new entrances to the Deep Roads," he explained, pointing on the map. " But when they did not return, scouts reported evidence of an ambush. Weapons and armor were left behind, but there was not a single body, not darkspawn _or_ Warden."

They all nodded that they understood this, but none commented and so Albain continued.

" I was in the process of forming a party to begin exploring the new tunnels, in order to search for the bodies," he went on. " When I was handed a report that said our outpost in Morelle, to the west, had been attacked and Wardens taken… still alive."

Salana chewed thoughtfully on the inside of her lower lip as she stared at the map. Two attacks did not make a pattern, nor did it give her enough to determine where she should start concentrating her search for the Architect.

" I can see the wheels are turning," Albain noted, and Salana focused back on him.

" We need more information to determine where they're coming from," she concluded. " Though obviously just sitting around and waiting for them to attack another group of Wardens isn't a very sound plan."

" A trap then," Nathaniel spoke up, and Salana nodded.

" With Warden bait," Salana added.

" Ahhh Commander?" Anders piped up, and both Salana and Albain looked to him.

It was, however, Oghren who commented.

" Well, with a tasty nug like you on offer how could the darkspawn resist?"

" I swear you're hitting on me," Anders muttered, occupying himself with the bookcase behind the desk.

" This isn't something that you couldn't handle yourself Commander," Salana pointed out flatly, looking Albain. " And despite the fact that her Imperial Majesty requested the presence of Ferelden Grey Wardens, it's not as if you're openly admitting that this is out of control and beyond your skill to deal with. So, my guess is that you were banking on the fact that because it seems these talking darkspawn originated from Ferelden, that we would make better bait."

" It crossed my mind," he admitted bluntly. " But do not get me wrong Commander," he continued, using her title this time to point out that he did in fact have some respect for her. " Your presence here is not about sacrificing Ferelden lives to save Orlesian lives. I have assembled a group of my most decorated Wardens who are yours to command while you grace us with your assistance."

Salana took a moment to mull this over while she studied the map.

" Very well," she declared. " Let's get started."

* * *

It was a delicate dance, co-ordinating this trap when they already knew their quarry, but did not wish to reveal it. Though Salana had not told her three confederates to say nothing of the Architect, they knew her well enough to understand that the reappearance of the creature's work was eating at her.

Like she needed more angst.

She met with the Orlesian Wardens on the far side of noon, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they did not outwardly exhibit any of the superiority complex that the chevaliers had. It was both refreshing and a relief to know that they were Grey Wardens first and foremost, and that their goal was to combat the darkspawn, not to find ways to aggravate relations between Ferelden and Orlais.

Much to Oghren's disdain, he still found himself the only dwarf, but worse still, he soon discovered that there was not one, but _two_ Orlesian mages amid his new company.

Anders couldn't have been happier.

They all dined together in the Grey Warden barracks, but returned to the palace at the empress' invitation.

" Sure ya don't wanna stay and chant or something with your new best friends?" Oghren snorted as they were admitted to the castle.

" Do I detect a hint of, jealousy?" Anders snickered.

" Hey I've got a joke for ya," Oghren quipped, instead of answering the question. " What did the dwarf say to the mage?"

Anders frowned for a second, trying to figure out what witty response was to come before Oghren had the pleasure, but an answer eluded him; he sighed.

" I don't know, what did the dwarf say to the maOOOF!"

Both Nathaniel and Salana stopped to look back at Anders as he doubled over with his arms wrapped over his stomach.

" Now that is me hitting on you," Oghren clarified smugly, continuing to walk with much more of a spring in his step.

" I'm going to… turn you into a butterfly," Anders gasped, his eyes watering as he tried to straighten. " A _pink_, sparkly butterfly."

" It's like looking after a pair of…" Salana began, but groaned inwardly as she finished her sentence. " … Children."

" Sorry Commander," Anders apologised, still a little winded, but Salana had already begun down the hall again.

* * *

" _Wake up little sister," Fergus' voice cut through the pleasant dream Salana had been having._

" _Uh Fergus the sun isn't even up yet!" she groaned, trying to hold the sheets up to her chin, even as her teenage brother attempted to wrestle them away._

" _If we don't leave now then mother will insist you stay inside to practice your embroidery," he pointed out, and that got her to open her eyes quick smart._

" _How did you even get in here?" she murmured as she sat up and rubbed her eyes._

" _I promised I'd show you the secret passages one day didn't I?" he grinned in the flickering candlelight. " Hurry up and get dressed. We have to get out before the guard changes over."_

_Grumbling about being rushed, young Salana threw on a set of her brother's old clothes; it was far too difficult to go adventuring in a dress. Wrapped in a heavy overcoat to guard from the early morning chill, she followed Fergus down the narrow, concealed passage that she was amazed to learn opened out right near the kitchen._

_With one hand over her mouth to stifle giggles of excitement, and her other in her brother's hold, the pair of children escaped their Highever home and slipped into the forest._

" _It's kind of dark," Salana frowned, and Fergus' fingers tightened around her hand._

" _It's ok, I know where I'm going," he assured her. " If you didn't come and see this now, you wouldn't get to," he went on._

" _What is it?" she inquired, trying to ignore the way the shadows seemed to reach out for them._

" _A monster," Fergus declared, trying to make his voice seem deeper._

" _Pffft," Salana scoffed. " I'm not a baby Fergus, I know monsters aren't real."_

" _Some monsters are," he insisted. " Like darkspawn."_

" _Darkspawn are just fairytales that father tells us so we'll eat our vegetables," she sniffed. " This better not be another dead wolf," she went on. " I couldn't get the icky spell off me for a whole week."_

" _It's not a wolf," he nodded, and stopped when they emerged from the trees and slid down the gravelly embankment onto a thin stretch of beach._

_Dawn was approaching and the morning was mostly clear. The shifting hues of the sky began to snuff out the twinkling starts, but the valiant moon still shone down, determined to hold sway until it was ousted by the sun._

" _There," Fergus prompted, finally releasing his sister's hand in order to point along the beach._

_In the silvery light Salana made out a dark shape against the white sand, big enough to be a person. Curiosity and apprehension waged a war inside her stomach, twisting it this way and that until Fergus' voice broke through her internal conflict._

" _Thought you said you weren't a baby," he grinned, beginning towards the shape that had not moved._

" _I'm not scared," she huffed, following him, but as they drew closer to the shape the smell of rotting flesh filled her nostrils. " Eww."_

" _Ugh, worse than dead wolf," Fergus agreed, but he had picked up a large stick that it appeared he was going to use to poke the immobile form. " Look at its hands," he prompted. " Unless you're too chicken."_

" _I'm not chicken either," she grumbled, inching a little closer to make her inspection._

_It could have been a person she supposed, laying face down in the sand, but the armor it was wearing was unlike the kind her father's soldiers wore._

" _Are those, bones?" she scowled, leaning in closer still._

" _Whoa!" Fergus exclaimed, somewhere between awe and horror. " These pauldrons are skulls!"_

" _Are not," Salana sniffed, and rather wished she hadn't._

" _Are too, look!"_

_Fergus grabbed her hand again and jerked her toward the head of the creature and sure enough, upon each shoulder sat a skull._

" _I found a darkspawn!" Fergus declared in a tone that suggested he thought his father would be proud._

" _Maybe we should go tell father," Salana said, the smell, and something else, something not so easily described, making her feel queasy._

" _Chicken," Fergus smirked. " Bwaaak bwaaak."_

" _I'm not a chicken I just think that we should tell father," she pouted, tugging at the back of his jacket. " Come on Fergus let's go."_

" _Help me turn it over," he said instead._

" _No! Come on, I want to go home."_

" _So you can learn how to curtsy?" Fergus snorted. " I thought you said you wanted to be a warrior?"_

" _I do, and I will, but…"_

" _But you can't be a warrior if you can even turn over one dead darkspawn," he pointed out and held out the stick to her. " If you do it I'll let you play with the sword father gave me last Spring."_

" _It's a dagger Fergus," Salana corrected._

" _Still one more dagger than you have," he grinned, for he could see that she was now very much torn._

" _Ugh," she grumbled, tentatively touching the end of the stick to the creature's ribcage. " Eww it's squishy."_

" _Come on, stop being such a girl," Fergus coaxed as a cloud drifted over the face of the moon._

_Gritting her teeth, Salana pushed forward and she felt the weight of the figure shift._

" _It's too dark," Salana whispered, not daring to raise her voice above that in case she woke the slumbering darkspawn she had just desecrated._

" _It's just a small cloud," Fergus told her, looking up to where the moon had been, able to see the light beginning to fight its way clear. " There, see?" he perked triumphantly, and looked down at the body._

_His mouth fell open._

_Shock and horror and terror and total, utter confusion._

_He had been expecting it to be disfigured, to have blood and guts and pus and five eyes, but two eyes that stared back at him from the face of his self proclaimed darkspawn, were his sisters._

_Salana swallowed and looked down at herself with the eyes of an adult. Her hair was matted and caked with sand and all manner of foulness and her cheeks were streaked with dried blood; even covered with filth and partially decomposed, however, it was most definitely her._

" _Over there!" came a call from down the beach, and as she turned she saw a large mob carrying torches and weapons, storming in her direction. Fergus was gone, but her attention had come to rest upon the figure leading the crowd._

" _Kill the darkspawn!" Alistair commanded, and in that moment the moon seemed to pinpoint her, standing there, covered in filth with human skulls for pauldrons._

" _Where will you run to now?" the Architect inquired evenly, appearing to her left and offering her his long, spidery fingers. " To whom will you run?"_

_

* * *

_

Salana sat up in bed gasping, the Veshialle in her hand before she was even fully upright. Her room in the Orlesian palace was empty except for her, but warning crawled like a thousand spiders across her skin, urgency that drove her to the door.

When she burst out into the corridor in just her flimsy shift, she nearly took Nathaniel's head off. His face was twisted in a way that reflected exactly how Salana felt, and by virtue of the dagger in his hand, she determined that he too had sensed imminent danger of a darkspawn nature.

" How could they get into the palace?" Nathaniel hissed as he followed Salana to Anders' door, but both he and Oghren exited almost simultaneously.

" Probably the same way that they got into Vigils Keep," Salana replied, and spared no time to don her armor.

Her heart pounding like a thunderous crescendo in her ears, Salana led her Wardens through the shadow cloaked halls of the palace, defying the urge to run from the dread that built the closer they came to the intruders.

" Damnit," she cursed, not stopping to check if the Orlesian soldier lying in a slump was still alive; he was not the only one.

" The empress' private quarters are this way," Oghren pointed out.

" Trust _you_ to know that," Anders hissed, but anything that might have been said after that was drowned out by the sounds of physical combat.

Narrowly the party dodged the Orlesian guard as he was thrown from the empress' antechamber and crashed into the stone wall. His body bounced quite a distance, testament to just how hard he had been thrown, and when he hit the ground he did not move.

" Make safe the empress!" Salana barked, throwing herself through the doorway and against the nearest darkspawn. In the dimness, punctuated only by the occasional flash of flame or lightening, it was difficult to see who, exactly, was who. That nausea, that knot in the pit of her stomach, however, guided the frost enchanted blade of her war axe to each foe, until it seemed there was scarcely any room to swing it.

" Anders!" Salana called, pivoting on her heal and snatching the back of Oghren's nightshirt. " Cone of Cold!"

The mage released a blast of frigid air from just outside their empress' bedroom door, just as Salana dragged Oghren in behind him. Every darkspawn in the antechamber froze rigid, trapped in an icy shell.

" Tell me you grabbed something explosive before you lef…" Salana began, but Oghren was grinning, already with a canister in his hand.

" Think Dworkin would ever forgive me for going to a fight without one of these?" he smirked, and they all shifted back through the doors before the dwarf threw forth the bomb.

There was then a shrill scream that could be heard even through the shattering explosion in the antechamber. Salana turned to find Nathaniel engaged with two Hurlocks, while a third bore down on the cowering empress in the corner of the room.

" Just kill them Nathaniel!" Salana growled, reaching back her arm and then hurling the Veshialle across the room.

The empress' scream died slowly as she blinked at the Hurlock before her that had ceased its advance. Its blood was splattered across her face, but that might not have been the most horrible part. One tip of Salana's war axe had sliced right through its skull and was protruding from its putrescent cheek, but even that wasn't the most horrible part. The frost enchantment that Sandal had placed upon the blade began to freeze chunks of flesh on the Hurlocks head, and as it sank to its knees, pieces flaked away and dropped at the empress' feet, where they quickly defrosted into squishy, slimy masses.

" Stay here with her," Salana ordered, lingering there in the bedchamber only long enough to tear her weapon from what was left of her foe.

" Commander!" Nathaniel called, and he followed her despite her instructions.

The antechamber was a mess; no piece of furniture remained in one piece, but Dworkin's explosive had thankfully not caused any structural damage. Like the room's gaudy appointments, most of the darkspawn that had been caught in the blast were totally decimated, though there were still some bodies intact out in the hall.

" A Disciple," Salana dropped, for some reason unable to swallow down the lump in her throat as Nathaniel crouched down to inspect the body. It _was_ dead, but that is not what he was checking for.

Not what he found.

The clatter of armor heralded the arrival of Orlesian reinforcements, and Nathaniel rose, tucking the folded note into the waistband of his trousers.

" The empress!" the foremost soldier exclaimed as he and a dozen other soldiers ran right past Salana and Nathaniel both, but Arturu and two of the Wardens they had met that day, Marceau and Trystan, did stop.

" Darkspawn in the palace?" Arturu frowned, the question directed at Salana as Nathaniel removed his nightshirt and folded it around her bare shoulders.

" It's not my palace Arturu," Salana pointed out. " But I would start where we usually start, underground."

" Is the empress all right?" Trystan inquired.

" Shaken but otherwise unharmed," Salana answered, trying to be nonchalant about pulling Nathaniel's nightshirt closed. " Though the same cannot be said for many palace guards."

" We should search the remainder of the palace," Marceau declared. " There may yet be darkspawn lurking."

There was agreement, though Salana glanced to Nathaniel; there was that same tug of war between curiosity and apprehension that she had in her dream, wanting and not wanting to know what was on the paper he had taken from the dead Disciple.

" Groups of four," Salana instructed, and the soldiers and the Wardens split up to begin their sweep.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**What she wants**

" No evidence of the darkspawn's entry through the dungeon or the sewers around the palace," Nathaniel said, shaking his head as he and Oghren rejoined Salana, Anders, Nathaniel and a number of the Orlesian Wardens.

" Sewers was my favourite part," Oghren grunted, flicking something nasty at Anders.

" And there's nothing to indicate that they forced their way through the palace walls," Albain reported.

" Why did my men not raise the alarm?" Captain René of the Palace Guard frowned, both angry and baffled.

" The darkspawn aren't exactly know for their subtlety," Marceau added.

" Hmm but there was… one of those talking darkspawn with them," Anders pointed out.

" So what?" Trystan snorted. " It just knocked on the palace doors and asked politely to be admitted?"

" We need a city engineer," Salana determined. " I'm not convinced that there aren't passages below the city that aren't hidden."

" There are indeed, concealed passageways," a gentle voice confirmed, and all eyes turned to the diminutive figure and her burly entourage. Her body was draped in a robe of gold satin, edged with burgundy cord, and her long inky hair was braided in an elaborate pattern fastened to the back of her head; she did not look like a woman who had just woken to darkspawn invading her bedchamber.

" Your Majesty," Captain René bowed. " My most abject apologies. This was an unforgiveable lapse in security."

" The darkspawn are exceptional foes Captain," the empress smiled thinly. " And thanks to our exceptional guests, I am unharmed."

As she stepped forward into the light, it became apparent that she was not the same woman that they had been introduced to the previous day; actually it _was_ the same woman, but without the brilliant light of the throne room, she was certainly by no means a radiant angel. It was apparent now that her skin was not flawless, that her cheeks were a little sunken and that she was much older than she had first appeared.

The look in her dark eyes told Salana that she knew these comparisons were being made, and evidently it did bother her a little.

" Do not allow me to interrupt your plans," the empress mused, trying to make herself seem bigger than she was. " I merely came to express my gratitude."

" You are most welcome your Majesty," Salana accepted, inclining her head. " Now if you shall excuse me, perhaps your fallen guards can tell me something of their assailants. Oghren, Anders, please continue exploration of the undercity when the engineer arrives. Nathaniel with me."

Neither Captain René or Warden Commander Albain questioned Salana as she exited the room; this was not her jurisdiction but they could not argue with her logic, or that she and her compatriots were the sole reason that the empress had not been killed.

" My feet are dirty Nathaniel," Salana said quietly as they headed for the chantry to where the bodies of the dead Orlesian soldiers had been moved.

" Well you're not wearing boots," he pointed out. " And we did just wade through a darkspawn attack."

" No," she snapped shortly. " _Dirt_, not blood, not gore, _dirt_."

" You should stop by your room and get dressed," he nodded.

" Gah, it's not about being dirty or cold Nathaniel!" she exclaimed in exasperation. " If I was clean when I retired, and have been inside the palace in your company since I woke, _where_ did the dirt come from?"

" Right," he frowned quizzically.

" The piece of paper," she then prompted, exiting the palace and beginning across the manicured garden courtyard toward the chantry.

" Here."

" What does it say?" she inhaled, but she was not really all that sure that she wanted to know.

Nathaniel unfolded the piece of paper and read what was scrawled upon it.

" To whom will…" he began, and seamlessly Salana's breathy whisper completed his sentence.

" … you run."

" What?" Nathaniel blinked. " How did you know?"

" Let's just examine the bodies," she exhaled, pushing through the doors of the chantry.

Ignoring the few sisters who were awake, despite the early hour of the morning, Salana marched in like a bitter wind and made her way to the vault.

" Out!" she barked, her voice strong and taut, the crack of a whip that made both robed women tending to the bodies jump. They knew who she was; everyone in and around the palace seemed to, and though they did not seem pleased to be ordered about, they retreated from the cool stone vault and left Salana and Nathaniel to their grim business.

" Poor bastards," Nathaniel said quietly, just to fill the silence that Salana had carved. There was no way that she could have seen what was on the piece of paper he had taken from the Disciple; it had remained tucked discretely into the waist band of his pants since he had taken it.

Salana gave no indication that she heard what he said, and so he just watched her move from body to body as she examined each wound.

" These wounds," she said finally, no color in her face, no strength in her voice now.

Her tone was that of a terrified child.

" These wounds were not made by darkspawn weapons," she continued, and Nathaniel moved to inspect the gaping gash across the throat of the soldier next to whom Salana stood. " Look," she continued, her words trembling. " Look at the clean cut; look at the frostburn."

Perhaps he had never paid that much attention before, but Nathaniel recalled seeing injuries like this many times, though not very often in a human; he usually saw them in darkspawn.

" I was dreaming," Salana declared, suddenly feeling the chill, suddenly aware that she stood barefoot in her nightgown and even Nathaniel's nightshirt offered her little warmth. " I was a child and Fergus was showing me a darkspawn corpse he had found on the beach behind the keep."

Her gaze travelled across the row of cots, each of them occupied, each man upon them a story like her own with a family, with hopes and dreams, all of them now dashed.

" He kept, daring me to turn it over," she went on. " And when I did, I was staring down at myself, one of the darkspawn and then…"

Now she closed her eyes, shut them tightly to steel herself against the recollection of what had happened next.

" Alistair was leading a mob down the beach, calling for me to be… destroyed," she choked out, before inhaling a large breath and fixing her eyes on Nathaniel's face, jaw clenched. " And the Architect stood beside me and asked where I would go, and to whom I would run."

Nathaniel didn't quite know what to say to that. Sure, they were linked to the darkspawn, but he had not heard of them being able to actively project themselves into a Warden's dreams.

" Nathaniel," she swallowed. " I think, I think the guards did not raise the alarm because they were already dead when the darkspawn entered. The Veshialle made these wounds. I killed these men and then I, I let the darkspawn into the palace."

" And then what?" Nathaniel scoffed incredulously. " Went back to bed?"

" I don't know," she hissed. " I don't remember but…"

" How?" he scowled, watching the doubt creep from the shadows and wrap itself around her.

" I don't know," she repeated distantly.

" That doesn't make sense," he insisted. " How is that possible?"

" I don't know!" she shouted.

She remained at the very bottom of the crater she had formed with the volume of her exclamation. Nathaniel would have defended her from any foe that tried to take her, but he did not know how to combat the insidious notion that she had done the Architect's bidding. They were all a little bit tainted, such was the nature of the Grey Wardens, but what she was saying went so far beyond that.

If the Orlesians were to find out…

" We need to get out of Val Royeaux," he declared, taking her wrist and pulling her toward the vault door.

" I can't leave," she said meekly.

" Salana, they have no reason to suspect you yet, but Albain and Arturu and the other Wardens, Captain René, these are not stupid men. You cannot stay in Orlais."

" Where would I run Nathaniel? Ferelden?" she questioned, eyes filled with the kind of despondency he thought he would never see in her; after everything, the woman should have been impervious to pain, but she was clearly not. " To whom? If mere absence destroyed the love I thought he held as dear as did I, what shall come of my return as a darkspawn?"

" You're not darkspawn," Nathaniel insisted, taking hold of her upper arms, well aware of the dangers of being overheard. " I don't believe that you did this, and even if by some dark design you did, it was _not_ your will, it wasn't."

Salana just peered back at him like she was lost, falling into a pit and screaming silently behind swimming eyes.

" We can't do this here," he muttered, hastily wiping her cheeks when her next blink released what he thought would be the first of many tears. " Pull yourself together Commander," he then scowled. " We will track the darkspawn outside of the city; we can think more then."

Her shoulders slumped and his remaining fingers tightened.

" Commander," he repeated. " Find that hollow place inside you again. Take refuge there where nothing can touch you, just a little longer."

Salana closed her eyes and inhaled a slow breath, reopening them as she exhaled and he gave her cheek a light pat.

There was some reassurance in his smile.

" Come on," he prompted, releasing her arms and giving her a small nudge. " Let's get changed and go."

* * *

The palace was still in a state of shock as Nathaniel and Salana went back to their rooms to dress. Anders and Oghren had joined the city engineers, Trystan and Marceau, and a number of Orlesian soldiers in the sewers once more to explore secret tunnels, and so no one except Arturu saw the other Ferelden pair leaving the stables.

He kept his distance and said nothing as they left and did not pursue, but he noted the look on the Warden Commander's face. He thought she should have been proud to receive a commendation from her Imperial Majesty but no; she looked as if she might shatter should a light breeze brush her skin.

Why?

They did not hide their exit from Val Royeaux proper, but the moment that the opportunity presented itself, Nathaniel led them away from the road. He dismounted in a small, quiet clearing at the top of a rise, overlooking fields planted with barley, but Salana remained in the saddle. He did not think that she had blinked since they left the palace, and could see that she was pouring every ounce of her energy to comply with his request.

When he placed his hand against her left greave, however, she looked down at him blankly.

" You can stay up there if you want to," he said lightly, but she shifted and slid down, still seeming a little unsteady on her feet.

Though this had been his idea, to escape from earshot of potential enemies and give Salana the room to truly express how she felt, Nathaniel was not certain if there was anything he could do or say that would make her feel any better.

He knew what he _wanted_ to do, but he did not see that solving any of her problems.

" Tell me what you want Commander," he said finally to her back.

Salana stared out through the trees, across the fields and towards the river. The city still lay sleeping in the distance, even as the dawn began to paint the world with color once more.

What did she want?

" When my parents were slaughtered," she said after a long pause, and it seemed to Nathaniel as if her voice came from the horizon, so far removed from her body that they could not possibly have been her words at all. " I thought what I wanted was revenge, but… it was through Duncan that I met a man who I believed to be good to his very core.

He was not there when I killed your father for his crimes," she went on. " But it was the whispering of his good nature in my heart that stayed my hand in the dungeon of Vigils Keep."

Nathaniel listened, as a good friend should. He had offered her his shoulder and now he had to wear the content of her lament, even if it also caused him grief. Her body began to move as the emotions swelled up in her chest and her lungs struggled to draw in air for the tension in the muscles around them.

" In the midst of terror and tragedy, he always managed to find the right words," Salana wept, Alistair's cheesy grin flashing across her mind's eye. " When I thought I would be buried beneath the weight of my sorrow, when the shades of my conquests haunted my steps, he was there to remind me that while we take life, though we live death, we are still human, and that means something."

A choking sob broke her monologue, and Nathaniel could not help but offer the light weight of her hands against her shoulders, just to remind her that she was not nearly as alone as she felt.

" The idea of losing him to the archdemon was so unbearable I, I would have done anything to keep him safe," she declared, gasping in between every other word. " I'd never felt like that before. I could have spent all my life in the cold, in the dark, alone, and it would all have been worth it, if the very last thing I saw in this world, was his smile.

Wynne once said that as people of duty, what we had would eventually be overcome by our responsibilities, that our love would not survive the demands placed upon us by others and our own consciences but…"

Her body convulsed as a sob gathered momentum, rising from the very centre of her soul and shuddering from her throat. Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her as her legs lost their strength and she cried out her anguish to a world that sought only to torment her more.

" … Have I not been faithful?" she questioned desperately. " Have I not held true to every, single, vow that I took?"

A Howe, and a man Nathaniel was, but as the woman in his arms searched for a reason within herself for the failings of her husband, his own heart was breaking.

" You have," he whispered against her ear, holding her tightly as she shuddered. " Even perhaps when you should not."

" Have I strayed too far? Too long?" she gasped. " Too long without a reminder and now I'm not human at all, I'm this, this puppet for a creature I spared because I believed in redemption!"

" You _are_ human," Nathaniel hissed, turning her around, forcing her to look at him, even if through red, swollen eyes. " But I didn't ask you what you were," he charged, trying to force away the infectious misgivings she entertained about her own character, with a stern approach. " I asked what you wanted, because I am going to help you get it."

" You can't," she cried. " What I want is gone, it's impossible."

" Like a simple noble woman from Highever, leading Ferelden's armies to victory over a Blight was impossible?" he pressed. " You are _not_, just anybody and though I'm not a mage, I can see that fate itself has no power over you."

Her chin dropped, but he lifted it once more.

" A thousand times or more I thought I had seen you die," he declared, forcing the strength of his conviction into her eyes, through the shimmering moiré of tears and driving to lift up the cowering, wounded child within her. " And a thousand times I have seen you rise to the distress of your friends, to give of yourself even when there was so little left of yourself to give.

Salana," he leveled, capturing her blotchy face between his hands. " If what you want is to storm Denerim and exact vengeance upon those who have hurt you; if what you want, is lay waste the Deep Roads and all the foul creatures that dwell therein; if what you want, is to burn this world and everything in it, then we shall go together and carve a terrible path through all those who get in your way, but…"

He inhaled, for he did not really wish to say that which he already knew she wanted to hear.

" … But if despite everything, you still need him, then I will give even my life to make that possible."

It seemed like it had been so long since Salana had heard anything so honest, so powerful, so inspiring. Alistair had moved her in the same way, before she wore her Warden Commander title, every utterance from his lips had touched that place she had eventually come to reserve for him.

Yet Nathaniel found it.

There was nothing holding back the torrent now, and exhausted from witholding back her grief and from the burden of this new episode with the Architect, Salana folded against the son of the man responsible for starting it all.

Sighing against the difficult moral position he had put himself in, Nathaniel lowered Salana to the ground and cradled her until her sobbing ceased. There had been a time when his own desires would have taken precedence, when he would not even have considered what _she_ wanted when there was a chance to get what he did. He could not deny, however, that she had changed him in the same way that she thought Alistair had changed her.

He did not believe in altruism, but he liked to think that because of her, he could come pretty close.

" Anora must be removed from Denerim," he said gently, continuing the smooth back her hair. " Taken as far from there as possible."

A flame ignited in Salana's mind and he saw it begin to burn, even as she fought it.

" You can," he affirmed, taking a guess at what she had just conceived.

" No," she sighed wearily, but she was no longer cold for Nathaniel's arms around her. " Having power does not authorise one to always use it, and I cannot abuse my position for personal gain."

" Personal gain?" he snorted incredulously. " Commander, you are the most valuable person in all of Ferelden, and if you cannot carry out the duties expected of you because of this manipulative whore, then is it not your duty to remove her?"

Weakly she shook her head.

" That is the same kind of reasoning that her father used to justify his betrayal of King Cailan and usurpation of the crown," she pointed out. " He too was a hero of Ferelden."

" Who lost his way, as you are at risk of losing yours now," Nathaniel countered. " Anora may not be much of a fighter, but we know her to be an accomplished politician. Bargain with Celene and Warden Commander Albain, and in exchange for our help against the darkspawn, have her posted here in Orlais."

He did not speak of the child growing within the woman, but there was a solution for that problem also. Finally it seemed that Salana was considering steps forward, not dwelling on the difficulties of the present moment.

Slowly she sat up, lifted her chin in a decisive gesture and opened clear eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**What he wants**

" That is an interesting proposition, your Majesty," the empress smiled, all confidence and power sitting upon her luminescent throne.

" Consider it a boon for services already rendered," Salana declared, her voice ringing clear and strong. " And services yet to be."

" But a Mac Tir, here?" René blinked.

" Not a Mac Tir," Salana corrected, looking to Albain. " A Grey Warden."

" And the child?" Celene inquired airily.

" My concern," Salana answered. " For this, I shall not rest until this darkspawn threat has been eliminated."

Albain looked to his empress, and she to him and Salana stood with her hands clasped behind her back awaiting the answer.

" Very well," Celene said finally, and nodded to Albain who spoke next.

" We shall accept Anora into the Grey Wardens and she shall be posted here in Val Royeaux until such time as you recall her."

" Oghren, Anders and Nathaniel will remain to continue our investigation while I return to Denerim to escort Anora here," Salana then declared, and Nathaniel flinched; he had simply assumed that he would be returning to Ferelden with her. " I have no doubt that by the time I return, we shall be ready to move."

" And if the darkspawn move before then?" René sniffed.

" Then I trust that the magnificent caliber of Orlesian Wardens under the leadership of _your_ Warden Commander, shall be sufficient to hold them until I arrive," Salana replied lightly, and though Nathaniel was still a little dazed by her previous proclamation, he had to fight a smirk at how easily she put René back in his place.

" I leave immediately," Salana then said, bowing to Celene and nodding to Albain before exiting the throne room.

" Are you sure that you want to go alone?" Nathaniel hissed, following her to the stables.

" No," she answered bluntly.

" Then don't," he frowned.

" But I _need_ to," she stated, leading her horse from its stall, but Nathaniel put his hand against the roan stallion's bridle.

" Commander," he scowled.

" Nathaniel, you helped me to make a choice," she grumbled. " Don't plant doubt again."

" It's not doubt," he insisted quietly. " I just…"

" I know," she smiled, placing her hand over his. " But if I do not do this own my own, then I shall not truly reclaim my dignity from Anora."

He looked to her hand and nodded, releasing the bridle.

* * *

Direct as it was, the journey back to Denerim gave Salana a lot of time to think about what she would say and do when she got there. She played each of her speeches over and over in her mind until she hardly had room conversations in the present moment.

She rode without rest from Highever, straight past Peaks Farm, and by the time she reached the outer gates of Denerim, her horse was beginning to stumble.

" Warden Commander?" a guard at the gate blinked. " Ah, I mean, your Majesty."

" Rest my horse please Sergeant," Salana said, making no comment on his surprise. " And prepare two fresh ones for my return."

" Shall I send word ahead to the castle?"

" No need," she nodded and began her way across the city on foot.

There was not a single man, woman or child that did not know her face, but reactions were somewhat mixed. There was still awe; children ran up to her in excitement if only to touch the hero of Ferelden. They ran away giggling and calling out to their parents, crowing about how one day they would do great things like she had. Their parents smiled and bowed graciously as she walked by, but inwardly they prayed to the Maker that their inspired children would never have to face the horror that their queen had saved them from.

Salana knew that once she reached the castle, it would not take long for the word to spread of her arrival. She did not dally to explain or to bask in the platitudes of servants or soldiers, instead carving a direct path through the royal halls to what had once been quarters occupied by Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir.

A frown furrowed deep crevasses in her brow, however, when she found those rooms empty. There was not a single piece of furniture, no paintings upon the walls and no drapes framing the windows.

" Private," she prompted, assuming that the pair of soldiers who had been passing as she entered, had stopped to wait should she need anything.

" Yes your Majesty?" the man inquired, indeed turning into the antechamber behind her.

" Was Anora Mac Tir not residing here?"

" _Was_, your Majesty," the guard nodded. " Not long after your departure for Orlais, his Majesty ordered her from Denerim."

Salana took a brief pause to process this before asking her next question.

" Ordered her to where?"

" There is a farm on the West Road," the soldier explained. " By the Hafter River, a day's ride from here, can't miss it really. After what she did, she's lucky that milking cows is all she gets."

There was honesty in the soldier's words, though Salana could not be sure if he was referring to Anora's involvement in her father's plans, or in the seduction of the king.

" Thank you Private," she smiled, leaving it ambiguous as to what part of his statement she gave thanks to.

" Shall I…" he began, but Salana pre-empted his question.

" That will not be necessary. I will be leaving right away."

" Very good my Lady," the guard bowed, stepping aside so that she could exit.

Every step Salana took, each corner she rounded she expected to find Alistair there. A large part of her prayed that she escaped the castle without seeing him at all, but the part of her that had been convinced to come back and deal with Anora, desperately wanted to see the king again.

There were no real words to describe the conflict within her. Could she still say that she loved Alistair after what he had done? Was there enough generosity in her heart left to forgive him his weakness, or, even if she could forgive him, would the memory of betrayal simply mean a long, slow and more painful end to what many had called the greatest romance of the Dragon Age? Salana did not know the answer to any of those questions, and knew only what she felt, even if it could not be defined by labels.

With the palace behind her and the city gates looming, she exhaled a sigh and with it released the pent up tension in her body. Still, there was a pang of disappointment; she was sure that word of her arrival had indeed come quickly to the king's ears.

" You really were going to leave without seeing me," Alistair said, and for a moment Salana was not sure if the voice had come from inside her own head.

Confirmation that she was not hearing voices came when he stepped around the front of the horse he had been holding just outside the gates. The sergeant who had greeted her earlier glanced away, perhaps to avoid suspicion that he had personally alerted the king to her presence.

" Can you blame me?" Salana inquired, valiantly fighting down the terrible storm inside her that threatened to sweep her away again.

" No," he admitted with the slight nod of his head. " I can't blame you."

An awkward silence followed.

Salana stood with her hands by her sides, just watching Alistair's hand brush repetitiously down the horse's nose, and Alistair studied his embattled wife.

Why was it, that when he had been so stupid, he had committed this terrible crime, that she was the one who looked for all the world as if it was all her fault? He wanted to make her smile again, say something imbecilic yet still endearing, but he knew that matters were far beyond the humor of his exaggerated ignorance.

" I would like it if you could stay," he said finally. " Even if you can only manage a little while."

" I can't," she declared quietly, aware that people from inside the city gates had begun to drift out at the spectacle of their king and queen in conversation. " I came back to conscript Anora to the Grey Wardens."

Alistair might have expected her to throw another punch, he _did_ expect her to be angry, but he had not seen Anora's conscription coming. Still, with amazing restraint given his habit of speaking before thinking, he managed to curb his surprise to a more civilised response.

" Conscription?" he repeated. " Is that really…"

" Necessary?" Salana filled in quickly, locking fierce eyes; somehow she felt it would be easier if they could both just be outwardly angry, even with the growing number of spectators.

" I was going to say wise," Alistair corrected with a mild frown. " And… I'm not certain that…"

He struggled to express his concern for the unborn child; there was no telling what the Joining ritual would do to it. Luckily, in her mind Salana had already played out any protests her husband might have had regarding her decision, and she knew exactly what he was going to say.

" I am taking her to Orlais," she declared evenly, her body language and tone suggesting to those watching on that she and the king were engaged in conversation of little consequence. " Where she shall remain under the command of Warden Commander Albain, though she shall not undergo the Joining ritual until she has given birth."

She had the right to conscript anyone she so chose, Alistair knew this, but he also knew that there was no way Salana would call upon Anora Mac Tir to join the Grey Wardens by merit of her abilities alone.

Though he was still bewildered and concerned, this gave Alistair hope.

" And the child?" he prompted carefully, though for Salana's sake he had not wished to ask.

She inhaled a slow, controlled breath.

Three people knew about Alistair's first child, whose maelefica mother had left the battle for Denerim at its conclusion and had not been seen by them since. Anora's pregnancy, however, was well enough known that her child's lineage could not be hidden. He or she would be Alistair's heir, and though not Salana's child, she had no right to punish it for the failings of its parents.

" When it is born it shall be returned to Denerim," she said finally, drawing herself up to be the proud woman she deserved to be. " It is your son, or daughter, and heir to the throne, to whom I owe my allegiance as much as I owe it to you, my king."

" You owe me nothing," Alistair admitted openly, dropping his eyes. " And anything, love, respect, or privilege, that I might have earned I know that I traded for something hollow and despicable."

Salana clenched her fists where they remained at her sides; she could not determine what would have been worse, that he had betrayed her by falling in love with another woman, or that he had betrayed her for something that he freely admitted meant nothing.

" Yes," she said, nearly under her breath, taking the horse's reigns. " You did."

" Salana," Alistair scowled. " It's a long way back to Orlais, are you sure that Anora should ride so far in her state?"

" Order me to leave her here," Salana hissed, turning back and putting herself right in his face with words that only he would have been able to hear. " Beg me to leave her, _ask_ me, to leave her and she is yours."

" _Choose,"_ she thought. _" What is worth more to you now?"_

" That isn't what I want," he told her, his voice also low, and she could tell by the way his hands twitched that he wanted to take her arms, perhaps to shake her, maybe to try and make her see how genuine he was in his remorse.

Or was that just her wishful thinking?

" And so what _do_ you want Alistair?" she glowered back at him, anger on the outside, sorrow beneath. " And how long will it last this time?"

" I know what I want," he told her softly. " But I don't yet deserve to ask it of you."

" The Architect has surfaced in Orlais," she declared, apparently dismissing the sincerest declaration he could make, swinging into the saddle. " I shall not be returning until he is destroyed."

" But you _will_ be returning?" he perked, stepping away from the horse.

Salana inhaled a thoughtful breath, allowing Alistair to gather that she was as yet undecided on the matter, even before she actually said it.

" I don't know."

" I will be waiting," he told her, as finally the Sergeant approached with the other horse and fastened the reigns to the back of Salana's saddle. " However long that may be."

" Forsaking all others?" Salana inquired, this time loud enough even for the crowd to hear, and Alistair nodded; how could he deny that vow he had made to her on their wedding day… again? " I am wounded, my Lord," she stated. " A second blow would be fatal."

She left him with that and kicked her horse into motion. The crowd waved their goodbyes, not able to make all that much of this final exchange, but it was only truly meant for the king.

" Let no one strike you ever again," he whispered to himself. " Especially not me."

* * *

Anora was woken before dawn and hassled from her lumpy, uncomfortable cot to eat before chores. The indignity remained though she no longer voiced her protests. How dare these lowly born command her to engage in such menial tasks as collecting eggs and milking cows? It was the job of peasants to bake bread and sweep floors, not nobles such as she.

She was once Queen.

Had she not ruled justly?

Had she not done everything to protect her people?

The irrational, arrogant and entitled part of Anora asked herself these questions but the realist sneered at the way she attempted to delude herself.

" _You're not mad at them, you're mad at yourself,"_ that snide and haughty voice told her as she slipped into her worn, leather shoes. _" You're angry that that bastard sent you here because you didn't sink your claws in deep enough. Oh you thought it would be all so easy, that he would just fall to your charms completely and all you are entitled to would just fall back into place."_

Still, despite the torture of her inner voice and its constant reminder that she had not been able to completely break Alistair from his wife's grip, she sustained herself with the image of Salana's face when she learned what the king had done.

" _Things will be different,"_ she told herself as she shuffled through the stinking chicken coop. _" When I hold the heir to the throne in my arms. Repentant for his betrayal or not, Alistair will have to accept me back into the palace as the mother of his child."_

She was roused from these encouraging thoughts by the beating of hooves, a sound followed swiftly by the voices of the soldiers that kept her from fleeing the farm.

" And what crime did you commit to warrant this miserable post Lieutenant?" the female voice inquired, just out of sight, and Anora crept around the side of the coop.

The soldiers laughed, but Anora would not be joining them when came the rider's next inquiry.

" Where is Anora Mac Tir?" Salana asked, and as Anora inched her face around the corner of the coop she matched that voice to the face of the queen.

Unable to stifle a gasp Anora recoiled, dropping all of the eggs she had collected in the curl of her apron. All of the satisfaction from earlier thoughts drained away, for she was sure that her executioner now stood in the farmyard.

Her life had been spared despite the way she had manipulated them in Denerim before the downfall of her father, but she had listened to enough of Alistair's poetic drivel about the epic nature of his love for Salana to know that this time, her rage would be personal. She had seen in Alistair's eyes when he realised the injury he had inflicted upon his wife and knew that the only thing that had saved her from death by order of the king had been his child within her. The Warden Commander, however, was not so tender Anora thought, that she would hesitate to destroy them both. After all, the child was a threat to her own position and power, and Anora knew that if their places were reversed, removing that threat would have been right at the top of her list of priorities.

The soldiers turned and pointed toward the chicken coop, but by that time Anora had dropped from sight. Gathering her wits, she skirted quickly around the pig-pen, sloshing through the mud toward the barn. If she could make it to the forest beyond the cattle pasture, then perhaps she had a chance.

Salana waited patiently in the farmhouse, standing by the fireplace with a warm mug of tea in her hands. Anora had not been where she should have been, but that was hardly all that surprising. What was surprising, was that the soldiers reported their charge had attempted no escape since being brought there, and though she had resisted demands that she complete her chores like any other farmhand, she seemed to have settled for her lot.

Anora was a very resourceful woman, and Salana had no doubt that the she had been plotting her return to power, even as she slopped the pigs, but on her own in the open world she was not going to get very far.

" Get your hands off me!" Salana heard exclaimed from the rear of the building, and her patience was rewarded when finally Anora was strong-armed into the main room.

Salana's arm reflexively moved back, fingers curled upwards as if to grasp the Veshialle's handle, but she forced herself to stop.

Visually, there was not much yet in the way of indication that Anora was pregnant, but the very sight of the woman caused unmitigated rage to challenge Salana's better judgment.

" Be still," Briony barked shortly as she soldier gave the woman a nudge to the center of the room.

Two soldiers remained, but watched on in silence.

Trying to reign in her fear and her outrage, Anora straightened and looked upon her death with contempt.

" Shouldn't you be off rolling about in darkspawn filth?" she smirked, her only weapon her tongue.

" I am not the one covered in pig shit," she countered in a disinterested tone, the tone one took when they wished to convey that it was a _chore_ to converse with someone.

" Pig-pen with _pigs_, royal bed with _kings_, it's all much of a muchne…"

_SLAP!_

It was a good thing that Salana had removed her gauntlets, for the blow she threw across Anora's face was enough to cause the woman to stumble and nearly fall. The woman gasped her horror, holding her cheek as her eyes watered beyond her control.

" Do not test the breadth of my good will you arrogant wretch," Salana growled, following Anora across the room. " For there is scarcely any left that has not been sapped by your treachery."

" Treachery?" Anora sputtered, holding up her hands lest Salana think to strike her again, but spite forked her tongue. " Alistair was a desperately, lonely man in need of…"

" Speak his name again you insufferable cur," Salana warned, a whisper that somehow lowered the temperature of the room. " And I shall cut the tongue from your mouth and wear it as a trophy."

" A trophy of _what_ Salana Cousland?" Anora spat back, insolence in her very nature. " That your husband found solace in the embrace of another woman?"

_SLAP!_

This time Anora was knocked to the floor, and even the pair of guards shifted their feet at witnessing the violent attack upon the unarmed woman.

" Oh," Anora chuckled, despite the ringing of her ears and the sting in her face. " Oh, your _Majesty_, how great a hero is she who hits defenseless, pregnant women?"

" My greatness shall not be measured by the likes of you," Salana declared, tugging furiously back on her self control as she shifted her eyes to the lieutenant. " Prepare her for travel."

" My Lady?" he perked in question. " Ah, the king himself commanded she remain here."

" I'm not going anywhere with her!" Anora spat, getting to her feet, putting a chair between her and Salana.

" Anora Mac Tir is hereby conscripted to the Grey Wardens," Salana asserted coldly, nothing in her tone divulging the true measure of satisfaction that she gleaned from saying those words.

" WHAT?" Anora blurted, the exclamation vaulting from her throat.

" What?" the lieutenant seconded, though his response was more born of confusion than offence. " Ah, begging your pardon your Majesty but… the Grey Wardens?"

" Such is my right," Salana pointed out, giving absolutely no ground.

" Al…" Anora began, but even in her frantic state corrected herself. " The king shall not stand for this! I am the mother of his child, heir to the throne!"

" By all means Lieutenant, send word of my actions to Denerim," Salana declared, now in complete control. " But I shall be leaving today with this woman, or you shall be burying her…"

Salana turned her head to look at Anora.

"… behind the pig-pen. Now ready her for the road."

" If you let her take me she will kill me _and_ my baby!" Anora shrieked, her back up against the wall.

" She is the Warden Commander," the lieutenant admitted, addressing Anora sternly. " No one is exempt from conscription should she so will it."

" She doesn't want to conscript me!" Anora wailed as the soldier approached her and Salana exited the farmhouse. " She's going to kill me!"

The door closed behind Salana, but she could still hear Anora's piteous wails. She closed her eyes and asked herself one more time if she was right to use her position in that way, and though the words she heard in answer were her own, it was Nathaniel's voice that they were spoken.

" _If you are not sometimes selfish, if you do not take for yourself that which reminds you why you fight, then you may as well be darkspawn."_


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**A matter of perspective**

" Look at you and your stalwart restraint," Anora smirked once they had boarded the ship at Highever. " That's the thing about being a hero isn't it? You have to have an element of masochism about you hmm? My father was the same."

The ride from the farmhouse to the port had been more arduous, Salana thought, than any battle she had ever faced against the darkspawn. There was such spite there, because ultimately it had been Salana's decision to execute Loghain, her decision to place Alistair on the throne. She was the reason that Anora had lost her throne and all her power with it. She was the one who decided that she should be locked away and not executed.

The woman had been probing the whole way, testing to see just how far Salana would go to shut her up.

" I am nothing like your father," Salana declared, pushing down the urge to strike Anora again.

Now Anora knew that she had been wrong.

Salana's hate for her might have been great, but though the unborn child within Anora was the fruit of an affair, however brief, there was still far too much heart in the Warden Commander to destroy it. That gave Anora leverage and comfort both.

" You're desperate for answers, I can see," Anora mused, leaning against the railing as Salana stared out to sea. " Because you simply cannot fathom, how a man who despised my father and me alike, would ever come to lay dow…"

" Shut up," Salana huffed.

" Perhaps the truth would bring you some comfort, _Warden Commander_," Anora smiled innocently and Salana looked to her.

" The day truth falls from your lips I will eat my helmet."

" Come on, why not save yourself some of that self piteous misery?" Anora continued. " We both know what I had to gain from pretending I could stand the man, and it was certainly not for love or companionship."

" I don't want to know, and I don't care."

" And here I was thinking you'd have made a half decent politician; what a _terrible_ attempt at a lie _that_ was," Anora smiled, clearly enjoying herself.

She was on a ship bound for Orlais, on her way to becoming a Grey Warden and there didn't seem much room for escape, but that did not mean she had no power at all. Her weapons had no blades and were not made of iron or dragonbone, but they were capable of cutting just the same.

" I don't suppose you asked _him_, how it all came about," she mused casually. " After all, he was the cheating party, how could you possibly believe anything he said?"

Salana narrowed her eyes on the horizon; she was better than constantly resorting to physical violence.

" _I am, I am, I am,"_ she told herself over and over again._ " And yet you're still listening aren't you?"_

" It was my idea, surprise, surprise," Anora went on. " And I am sure that you will be warmed to know that your king…"

" _Our_ king," Salana put in stiffly, intending to impress upon Anora that while she would be spending some time in Orlais, she still owed Alistair her loyalty. Alas, Anora capitalised on the statement, twisting it as one might a knife in an already gaping wound.

" Oh so you _are_ willing to share him then?"

Salana turned her head, and even though she had been baiting the other woman, Anora stepped out of arm's reach.

" You know he initially threatened to have me executed?" she went on. " But I think he was curious more than anything, as to how a woman in my position expected to improve it. You see, I know that trust, is a big thing for… the king and so he _must_ have been struggling with a court full of people all vying for his favor. With you and Eamon off rebuilding the world and that old witch dealing with the breakaway Circle, it turns out that the one person whose motives he could be sure about, were mine.

All I had to do was convince him, that because he _knew_ I was only offering to help him to serve my own purpose, _he_ was in control."

Salana struggled to untangle the convoluted mess of an explanation that she was sure made perfect sense in Anora's mind. Could it really have been that way? Had she honestly convinced Alistair that she couldn't manipulate him if he knew she was manipulating him?

" Isn't it a strange old world when the person you hate most, is the one you can trust to tell you no lies?" Anora mused.

" Rubbish," Salana snorted, looking back out over the waves.

" Too busy off slaying dragons to properly understand the inner workings of courtesan life," Anora chuckled. " Still, surely even you, Arlessa of Amaranthine, should be familiar with the terrible uncertainty associated with having to guess _why_ each lord and lady smiles and bows and offers you tribute. There was absolutely no doubt in _our_ king's simple mind as to why I would offer him my services and he thought that made him safe."

" That still doesn't explain h…" Salana began, but chewed the end of her sentence off. _" And that is exactly how easy it is to end up giving Anora what she wants."_

Anora heard Salana's thoughts as clearly as if they had been spoken, and her smile widened.

" You're right, that doesn't explain how I became pregnant," she declared. " Obviously listening to me prattle on about political strategy is a far cry from the thrust and…"

" In case your self confessed brilliant powers of perception have failed you, I am this close to dumping you in the ocean," Salana hissed, indicating the smallest of margins with her thumb and forefinger.

" But when you understand what drives a thing, when you understand its nature," Anora went on, not finishing her previous sentence. " You know how you can subvert it. His nature is to do what is right, to be loyal, but his loyalty to you who was away for so, long, made him miserable beyond all measure."

That smile turned upward further and became a vicious sneer.

" And just as a torture victim gives up their secrets in the end, I pressed against that sadness, that nightmare that was living without you, until he took the comfort offered to him without room for thought on the consequences."

Salana blinked, completely baffled.

" You coaxed Alistair into believing you couldn't manipulate him, which made him drop his guard, and then you made him feel so miserable and alone that he fell into your bed?" Salana summarised.

" _Tabletop_ actually."

_SLAP!_

" That is the last time I slap you," Salana growled. " Next time it will be my sword, so help me I swear it."

" And now you know!" Anora hissed, gritting her teeth and holding her face that would definitely bruised this time. " It was you, his greatest weakness, who was at the heart of my success."

" And now _you_ know," Salana countered, curling her fingers into a fist and releasing them slowly. " That it is me at the heart of your downfall."

" Unless you kill this child inside me, and now I know you _can't_, I will always…"

" My helmet _AND_ my breastplate you _pathetic lying hag_," Salana spat, but Anora merely laughed.

" Whether you believe it or not does not alter the facts your _Majesty_, and should you ever work up the courage to actually ask him yourself, _our _king will tell you as much."

What could Salana say to that? She fought the rage inside her that told her to follow through with her threat, and found it more difficult to resist the violent solution than she ever had. Was it simply because her relationship with Alistair was the center of the issue? Was the image of he and Anora pressed flesh against flesh so terrible, that her strongest desire was to abandon a response of justifiable force for a lethal solution?

She had spared the Architect, and yet almost every part of her being wanted to rip Anora's head off. All except that part of her that clung to what Nathaniel had said; she was _not_ darkspawn.

* * *

" _It's like there's a hole in my very core and, no matter how I tell myself that we both have to fulfill our responsibilities, there is no comfort in that," Alistair declared, turning from where he stood in the window, and Anora nodded from where she sat at a simple writing desk. " Uh, why did I even tell you that?" he grunted, placing the mug he had been holding down on the windowsill behind him. " And on that, while I'm even here?"_

" _Because I hate you, and you hate me… passionately," Anora answered plainly._

" _That may be the only sensible thing you've ever said," Alistair noted heading for the door, but Anora rose and blocked his path._

_From the corner of the room, her heart pounding, Salana watched. She wanted to rush in and shove Anora away and bustle Alistair out of the room, but her legs felt heavy; if they noticed that she was there, they did not show it._

" _The fact is that I already know you're an idiot," Anora told him._

" _Great," he sniffed, rolling his eyes._

" _And so you can pour out your pathetic, bleeding heart over some dirty Highever floozy as much as you like, and still be sure that my poorly opinion of you hasn't changed."_

" _Did you just call my wife a dirty floozy?" Alistair blinked._

" _Evidently," Anora confirmed, walking around him, to the window where he had been standing._

_Salana pushed away from the wall. Her armor clanked loudly but did not draw the attention of either other occupant of the room._

" _You miss her, I think everyone gets that, and while you're pining like a love sick puppy do you know what is happening to the kingdom my father died for?"_

" _Your father was executed for treason," Salana growled, and though she heard her own voice clearly, it did not seem that Anora or Alistair heard her._

" _Your father was executed for treason," Alistair growled quite angrily, stabbing his finger through the air at the deposed queen._

_With perfect, practiced poise Anora shrugged it off and smiled graciously._

" _From the outside looking it in might have looked like treason," she explained patiently. " But my father truly believed that Cailan's strategy against the Blight was reckless. My father's withdrawal from Ostagar incurred terrible fatalities, he knew it would, but he also knew that it was a lost cause and that surviving forces would need to be focused elsewhere to protect Ferelden's citizens."_

" _You're seriously trying to justify abandoning the king, and all those soldiers who stood proudly beside him in Ferelden's name?" Alistair coughed._

" _No," Anora disagreed lightly. " I am merely pointing out that belief and perspective are large factors in the determination of right and wrong."_

" _And yet for all your wisdom, here you are, locked away," Alistair sniffed._

" _And yet for all your righteousness, here you are," she mused airily. " Dreadfully melancholy. Has being your version of right not made you happy?"_

_Alistair did not answer verbally, but his shoulders slumped a little._

" _Why are you still standing here?" Salana coughed out. " Alistair, just walk away."_

" _You could have allowed the governance of this kingdom to remain in the hands of someone who had already been managing its affairs effectively," Anora pressed. " And you could have gone with Salana to Vigils Keep and been happy, but you didn't. Now you have to rule and act as if your heart is stone, while lords and ladies plot to destroy you."_

_Salana stepped forward but Alistair beat her to it, slamming Anora back against the wall with his hand against her collarbone._

" _Uncharacteristically brash, your Majesty," Anora hissed, glaring back at him like she was not at a physical disadvantage. " Check your perspective, are you right this time?"_

_Though Salana stood at Alistair's back she imagined the shift in his expression. What had begun as outrage slowly melted into dejection as he accepted Anora's point._

" _When they whisper falsehoods in your ear for their own personal gain," Anora said, her glare softening, her brow creasing. " Will you be happier then? When the people suffer as you suffer now?"_

" _Don't you see what she is doing?" Salana scowled and took hold of his shoulder._

_As Alistair spun around, Salana saw Anora's eyes widen in fear._

" _Darkspawn?" Alistair exclaimed, drawing the sword always at his side with one hand, and unconsciously ensuring that Anora was behind him with the other._

" _What?" Salana blurted, holding up her hands, hands sheathed in rough, filthy gauntlets covered in spikes. " No! Alistair I'm not…"_

_She didn't get to finish that statement before Alistair swung at her, a blow that might have taken her head off had she not shuffled back._

" _Alistair stop!" she begged, but her voice was deep and raspy, and the king's sword thrust forward once more._

_The room fell still the moment the point of the blade slid effortlessly through Salana's chest; straight through the heart._

_The Architect watched her sink to her knees from beside Anora but said nothing; he watched as the king of Ferelden withdrew his sword from between the darkspawn's ribs, and finished the job with a blow to the head._

_

* * *

_

Anora reveled in her apparent triumph over Salana's emotions all the way to Orlais. It was clear from the Warden Commander's silence, that the wound she had struck was deep, but she couldn't have known the nightmares that plagued the other woman's sleep.

As the spires drew closer, however, Anora lost all of her smugness. Her father had worked with King Maric tirelessly for thirty years to free Ferelden from Orlesian occupation, and she knew that as far as welcomes went, hers would be far from warm.

She was greeted at the Grey Warden barracks by Arturu, who explained that the Warden Commander had joined others, including the three Fereldens, outside of the city.

Attention turned to Anora, much to Salana's relief, and Arturu noted her eagerness to leave.

" You do not wish to see your recruit settled in?" he inquired, but that isn't what he was asking at all.

" It'll be better for her if I don't," she answered, tired of acting like nobody knew what was truly going on.

" I think, perhaps, that you have shown more compassion than I, though this move is not without it's…"

" Controversy?" she filled in with eyebrows raised.

" We'll, here you may find that under any other circumstance, the daughter of Loghain Mac Tir might be prosecuted for war crimes," he pointed out. " If she was lucky."

Salana just nodded.

" Of course that is hardly your concern," he chuckled. " Though you can rest assured that no Warden here will think any less of you."

" Well that _is_ reassuring," she mused, rolling her eyes. " But worry less about comforting me Arturu, and more about defeating the darkspawn."

" Oh I'm sure that with the hero of Ferelden with us the darkspawn don't stand a chance," he smiled. " Your hunch about the tunnels beneath the city proved correct and we were able to track the path of the darkspawn intruders out of the city to the west."

" And then?"

" Well obviously the tunnels were constructed as a means for the royal family to exit the city safely should the city be besieged," he explained. " However, we discovered several tunnels not on the city engineer's blueprint, rough, new passageways that do not appear to be a part of the Dwarven Deep Roads network."

" That surface where?"

" When last a messenger returned, they had not surfaced at all," he answered, and though the man had been looking for every opportunity to get under her skin, it was he who looked a little uncomfortable now.

" You're not afraid of the dark are you Arturu?" she sniffed and he straightened.

" The dark, no," he shook his head. " But these tunnels look hastily constructed, and the possibility of cave-ins is rather high."

" Take heart," she smirked. " The hero of Ferelden will protect you, even from cave-ins."

* * *

The Deep Roads were a terrible, horrifying place, but Nathaniel thought this was worse. At least the winding maze of tunnels in the Deep opened out into sprawling caverns and cities; these more recently constructed tunnels did not. It was clear that their function was to facilitate clandestine travel, rather than provide residential space.

Five days they had marched, and though they found tracks and similar evidence that confirmed the darkspawn had indeed travelled that path, they encountered no actual foes.

While not an engineer, Oghren had not stopped pointing out design flaws, nor commenting on the crude nature of the work, adding to the tension in the Grey Warden contingent. It he even had something to say about the way the rock mineral was changing the further west they headed, and did not hold a lot of confidence for the stability of excavations.

As the dwarf prattled on about the probability of cave-ins the softer the rock became, Nathaniel's mind wandered from the darkness to his distant commander. He prayed that all had gone as well as it could have in Denerim, and that Salana had made her way safely back to Val Royeaux. Still, a part of him hoped that the king had fought for his 'mistress', further driving the wedge between he and his queen; that was not what Salana wanted, and even hurt as she was, Nathaniel knew that the flame in her heart still belonged to Alistair.

There had been no dreams for him like the one he had woken from the night of the palace attack. Salana had shared hers with him, but he had not reciprocated for a reason. She doubted herself already, and he did not believe that there was any truth to the ministrations of this darkspawn puppeteer. Nathaniel knew her now, and no fictitious creation inflicted upon his resting mind would convince him that she would ever stand willingly at the Architect's side.

When finally they met with day-light, the air was thick and heavy. Insects moved in swirling swarms that could have consumed an entire man and the very ground threatened to swallow each footfall whole.

" Nahashin Marshes," Albain reported disdainfully. " Not pleasant at the best of times, but this time of year, when the days are long, the humidity is stifling. We'll camp here at the tunnel's mouth until Salana arrives."

" Am I the only one who thinks that for generally underground spawning creatures a swamp is a strange place for the darkspawn to come from?" Anders inquired, fluttering his robe to try and dispel some of the heat that had been trapped beneath. " Can't build tunnels under the bog."

" Maybe we ain't there yet," Oghren pointed out.

" It will be difficult to track anything through the marshes," Marceau put in.

" So where are you hiding?" Nathaniel whispered to himself, looking out across the gently undulating expanse of reed covered marshland.

* * *

_Naked but for his pride, Nathaniel stared out through the rusty bars of the crows cage. His skin stung with a pattern of insect stings and shallow gashes, and his dry, broken lips bled._

_He spoke, but there was no sound, called but she didn't look to him; she danced before the Architect to the heavy beat of drums and it didn't make sense._

_Why was she smiling?_

_Long, bony fingers mapped out each step Salana took, each lift and sweep of her arms and every graceful pirouette, but there was relief in her dark eyes, a peace that Nathaniel had seen only in a distant memory when they were children._

_Did it make sense?_

_If Salana sought refuge from the complications of her life, forsaking all the oaths she had taken she would be hunted; there were too many people who needed her for people to just let her go. There would never be a quaint little house in the woods, two children and a dog for her, no growing old gracefully in the arms of love that could not be corrupted._

_Give up her will?_

_If she gave up her will to the Architect, if he promised her the unburdened weightlessness Nathaniel saw in those reflective meres, would she take it?_

_The drums thundered in Nathaniel's ears, drowning out thought…_

… and when he woke they were still beating.

Trystan had already risen to Nathaniel's left, and all around him the other Grey Wardens were wrested from slumber.

" At least they knocked first," Oghren growled, slapping the handle of his massive battleaxe into his gloved hand.

" Might have been nice to have a little more warning than war drums though," Anders pointed out. " What happened to the scouts?"

" Rain of fire first, questions later," Nathaniel grunted, slipping his quiver over his shoulder and rushing to the mouth of the tunnel to support Albain's men.

Thirty strong and armed to the teeth, the Orlesian Grey Wardens cut an impressive silhouette against the light of the false dawn, but even they were awed by the spectacle before them.

There had been twenty-eight darkspawn, including one Disciple, involved in the palace incursion, but lit by the flickering of flares, a small army stared back at the group assembled at the tunnel entrance.

" Um," Anders dropped, as a row of twenty Disciples separated from the ranks and formed up an arch as if preparing to charge.

" We can't win a fight out in the open," Nathaniel hissed to no one in particular, when he noted the way the Orlesian Grey Wardens steadied their weapons and tested their footing.

" I can't see a bloody thing," Oghren muttered, stuck at the back. " Why aren't we attacking?"

" Wha… mounted darkspawn?" Marceau blinked, and sure enough, a twisted figure upon what might have once been a horse, stepped from the throbbing horde and in behind the line of Disciples.

" Isn't that the…" Anders began, but Nathaniel's sharp glance cut him off.

" Take them all," the Architect ordered calmly. " Preferably whole."

" Fall back into the tunnel!" Albain commanded, and the percussion of heavily armored bodies shifting backwards provided apt accompaniment for the increasing volume of the darkspawn drums.

Nathaniel found himself shoved backwards, though he had readied his arrow and aimed it at the Architect, who appeared to be looking directly at him. The creature had no expression, no apparent malice, no joy or satisfaction, but his minions roared their zeal and set upon the Grey Wardens with fervent relish.

Well maintained weapons met with the jagged, blood encrusted blades of Genlock and Hurlock, and shields were pelted with arrows that seemed not to discriminate between friend or foe; why should the darkspawn care if they hit their own when they had such numbers?

As Nathaniel abandoned his bow for a weapon more suited to close quarter combat, he saw Trystan from the corner of his eye. The other man took the Disciple's sword blow against his shield but was pushed back against the wall of the tunnel, the swing of his sword restricted by his nearby compatriots. The Disciple grinned revealing two rows of sharp, pointed teeth, a vicious expression reflected in its beady eyes as it took hold of Trystan's shield arm and forced it away from his body. The follow through of the creature's blade caused the Grey Warden's eyes to bulge, but as Nathaniel sliced diagonally across the face of the Genlock before him, attempting to clear a path to the gravely injured man, he was kicked in the stomach.

Winded, he fell back, and in the frantic chaos of battle was very nearly stomped upon. Hastily he struggled to clamber back to his feet, but through the anarchic twist of limbs he saw that Trystan had already fallen.

" Drive them back!" Albain's voice called, but Nathaniel barely heard him. Even in the madness, despite the threat to his life and those of his comrades, he found himself transfixed by the hunched, skittering creatures that rushed from the back of the darkspawn pack to ferry Trystan's body away.

Lightening danced between bodies that convulsed, and rushes of frigid air were quickly replaced by the searing heat of fireballs that exploded just beyond the Grey Warden contingent. The efforts of neither magic nor steel, however, seemed able to keep the darkspawn from pushing the Wardens further and further back into the tunnel, dragging away bodies as they went.

" FIRE!" came a booming command from somewhere in the darkness behind the Wardens, and a whistling hail of arrows skimmed the ceiling and slammed into the darkspawn gathered at the tunnel's mouth. It knocked them back just enough to cause the others to pause and give the Grey Warden reinforcements room to rush forward into the fray and thin out the congestion.

As Nathaniel finally managed to get back to his feet amid allies pressing savagely against the insidious onslaught, Salana stepped dramatically from the shadows. As if ten feet tall she glowered across the jostling helmets and through the passage entrance into the brightening day beyond, eyes fixed upon the Architect. She seemed to inhale the putrid scent of death and growl it out through a sneer before charging into the battle, cleaving her first opponent cleanly in half.

Then they retreated.

The darkspawn still had numbers; given time they could have cut down even Salana, but they withdrew, dragging their dead and wounded quarry with them where they could.

Finally only the Architect remained atop the rise, and Salana stalked past Albain, frozen drops of darkspawn blood falling from the Veshialle and shattering against the hungry earth.

The dawn expanded around them both, igniting fierce defiance around Salana like a fiery halo, and a shadow of the truth like a gathering storm behind the Architect.

Then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Confessions**

" Why did they retreat?" Albain panted, looking confused as he removed his helmet and turned to Salana.

" You didn't think my arrival was dramatic enough?" she inquired with cold flippancy. " I'll shout louder next time."

" Impeccable timing Commander," Anders grinned enthusiastically and Oghren grunted his second to the statement.

" Not soon enough for some I fear," Salana noted, as the other Wardens began to gather the casualties.

" Trystan and Basile are gone," Nathaniel declared, using this report as a means to move in closer to Salana. " Didier, Francois and Emile probably will not live much longer, even with spirit healing."

" I will see if I can help," Anders nodded and departed the circle.

" Forgive me Salana," Albain said, though his tone did not indicate a man seeking forgiveness. " But am I wrong in concluding that is not the first time you have seen that creature, nor it you?"

Nathaniel swallowed and looked to Albain, silently awaiting Salana's response.

" You are not wrong Commander," she answered, gesturing his observation's accuracy with the nod of her head also; still, she did not elaborate, instead beginning up the rise to where the Architect had sat atop his mount to watch over the carnage. " Nathaniel," she said instead, knowing he would have followed her. " Do not allow the others to destroy the darkspawn corpses just yet."

She was removing him from the conversation that Albain was sure to press, Nathaniel knew this, but he could hardly refuse her request.

" Yes Commander."

" He calls himself the Architect," Salana declared, trying to figure out where the darkspawn had gone in so small a space of time. " Atypical for darkspawn in that he is no just a mindless killer."

" But it's not an archdemon," Albain stated, not as a question but he was definitely seeking confirmation. " This isn't another Blight."

" He's not and it's not," she assured him. " But he is responsible for creating the talking darkspawn."

" You knew and withheld this information, why?" Albain scowled, and from just outside the tunnel entrance where the darkspawn bodies were being piled, Nathaniel saw the Orlesian Warden Commander step closer to Salana.

" Firstly," Salana said slowly, looking fearlessly into the face of the much older man. " I wanted to be sure that the Disciples you were seeing here were not simply remnants of those that fled Ferelden. Secondly…"

She paused for an eleventh hour reconsideration, but ultimately pressed on with her original plan.

" Secondly," she repeated. " Because I let him go."

" You what?" Albain blinked, his exclamation of surprise not yet bearing the full weight of the anger and accusation that was to follow.

" That doesn't look good," Oghren grunted, and Nathaniel glanced briefly to him before looking back up the rise, where Albain looked about ready to explode.

" Explain to me _Warden Commander_, how someone sworn by oath to protect Thedas from the darkspawn, _willingly_ sets free a creature such as this Architect."

" Be angry, Albain," Salana responded slowly, staring at him with uncompromising, hard eyes. " But take a large, step back."

Albain was hardly a man to fear a woman, even one as highly decorated as Salana, but to engage in a fist fight right there would have been madness; he complied, giving her a little more space.

" While the creature known as the Mother was attempting to flood Ferelden with yet more mindless butchery, the Architect was engaged in an experimental search to free the darkspawn from their mindless compulsion to seek out the maleficent old gods, that call them to arms during a Blight," she told him evenly, trying not to sound patronising. " What he discovered, was that just as Grey Wardens inherit the taint from darkspawn and with it our ability to sense them during the Joining, some darkspawn gain resistance to the call of their own taint after ingesting the blood of Grey Wardens."

" _What?"_ Albain growled, swiftly joining the dots, and in abandonment of his desire to avoid conflict with the Ferelden's, he took hold of the collar of Salana's breastplate. " Now I know why my Wardens have disappeared," he snarled into her face. " You knew and said NOTHING!"

Now others also looked up from their grim duties to where the pair of Warden Commanders were situated. It looked as if Albain was preparing to punch Salana in the face, and yet she retaliated no more than to curl her fingers around his wrist.

" Yes," she said simply. " I was given the opportunity to destroy him and I did not."

" WHY?" Albain shouted, and there was not a single pair of eyes that were now not watching.

" For the same reason you choose to command your soldiers left, instead of right," Salana answered.

That response earned her a shake, and Nathaniel began forward, only to find his arm taken firmly by Arturu.

" Do you know how many Wardens traversed darkspawn ravaged Ferelden, to earn the allegiance of the factions in order to have a chance at ending the Blight?" she hissed, and suddenly her grip on his bracer tightened and fire glimmered in her eyes. " Do you know how many Wardens were there when the archdemon needed slaying at the siege of Denerim. How many Wardens were there when the Mother threatened both the city of Amaranthine and Vigils Keep?"

Her eyes narrowed, pinning Albain to the air as surely as if she had impaled him with a spear.

" How many of those Wardens there, were responsible for making those final decisions? Upon whose hands does the blood of the dead rest, and in whose ears do the sorrowful screams of their families echo?"

Salana inhaled and he actually winced as her hold on him grew tighter still.

" Was it you Albain?" she asked, her teeth bared. " Were they your words spoken that decided the fate of Thedas or were they mine? Single moments, left or right, life or death, and in _that_ moment, _I_ decided that the chance that the darkspawn would never again call forth another archdemon, that we would never again suffer the heartbreak of so much tragedy, was worth the risk of the Architect taking the blood of another Grey Warden."

It seemed that even the insects ceased their incessant buzzing to listen to her final declaration, and witness Albain concede her point. He released her and stepped back once more, down the hill, and left her standing above them all.

" Do I feel the weight of my failures?" she questioned rhetorically, this time casting her voice out to her entire audience.

Nathaniel's insides twisted as Salana crucified herself, and he was not the only one. Oghren and Anders both frowned up at their Warden Commander, but their eyes were filled with pride.

" I feel it," Salana continued, her voice shuddering as she poured out all the pain she felt at the hands of those who asked and asked of her, and it was still never enough. " But I do not have time for regret, because if I paid in tears for all the decisions I have made that have not ended in perfection, I would have no life, no energy, no soul left to give for atonement."

The sun rose behind her slowly, a blazing sphere that burned her image into the sweltering landscape, a woman standing alone before judgment, with her hands stretched out either side of herself.

" If you want blood, then take it," she said openly, returning her gaze to Albain. " But I came here to correct my failure."

Nathaniel finally shook his arm free of Arturu's hold, but he did not move from where he stood. Should Albain choose to take Salana up on her offer, there was no way he could reach them to intercede before she was struck; but he did not believe the Orlesian would do it, could do it.

" Do not question my motives Albain," Salana exhaled at the end of a tense silence, but even that breathy statement stood strong against the other Warden Commander's scrutiny. " If I was not prepared to die to make right the wrongs my choices have inadvertently brought about, then I would be warming a throne in Denerim right now."

Albain's jaw slid slowly sideways, indicating that the confrontation was at its end, but Nathaniel was surprised when he did not then address his men; and Salana did.

" Farewell your fallen comrades," she instructed. " And then turn you attention to securing these tunnels. You will not all be coming with me."

With that said, she began back down the hill towards the pile of fetid darkspawn corpses, and work commenced in silence.

* * *

" The scouts have nothing to report," Nathaniel told Salana quietly.

She had spent quite some time rummaging through the maimed darkspawn bodies before lighting the pyre herself. The Orlesians wondered why she stared at those flames so intently, what was going on behind those eyes and that mask that seemed to hint at sadness.

They did not see what she had taken, no one had.

" No," she acknowledged, the contorted branches of the marshland tree providing little protection from the fierceness of the afternoon. " But it doesn't matter," she went on. " You saw what I saw; the Architect will find me when he is good and ready."

" So we ride out into the Marshes and wait to be ambushed?"

" No," she said again. " _I_, ride out into the Marshes and wait to be ambushed."

" So you want to add martyr to your list of titles?" he snorted.

" It's not about that and you know it," she huffed.

" Of course I know what it's about," he hissed, moving around the trunk of the tree, obscuring his expression from any onlookers at the tunnel camp. " I allowed you to go back to Denerim alone, don't think I'm going to let you ride down the Architect's throat by yourself."

" _Allowed_ me?" she perked thinly.

" Go ahead and try to pull rank," he sniffed, but she glared at him, hands creeping towards her hips. " Salana, repeat the truths you spoke to Albain. How is giving yourself to the Architect going to undo what you did?"

" I'm not going to _give_ myself to him," she scoffed.

" Far be it from me to question your martial abilities _Commander_, but that's suicide."

" Well luckily for you Nathaniel, the burden of such decisions does not rest with you," she snapped, stepping around him but his arm slamming against the tree trunk barred the path of her irritated exit.

" You think those two will ever get it together?" Oghren wondered out loud, watching from a distance, and Anders turned from his discussion with one of the other mages to look at him, and then over at the semi concealed pair just out of earshot.

" If he _ever_ kisses her," Anders smirked. " You know, without her ripping off any of his important appendages, I will don that silk boned corset you liked so much and ask Warden Commander Albain out to dinner."

" Ah Prissy Digits, I got a feelin' Howe's in with a chance," Oghren grinned, continuing to watch as Salana gave Nathaniel a solid shove, and he retaliated with an equally forceful push that nudged her right out of sight. " Sod it."

" You spent all that time wading through darkspawn infested Deep Roads with the king," Anders pointed out. " Well, before he was king, but my point is, you would have seen their relationship unfolding. You don't feel the slightest bit inclined to hope that _maybe_ he and the Commander will work through their problems?"

" Ha!" Oghren chortled. " She fought for him tooth and nail, even when Wynne kept on with all that 'it's doomed' crap, even with all those official types goin' on about the need for babies and such. You don't think I ain't heard her sobbing at night sometimes for the heartache and what, I'm supposed to hope she goes back to that cheatin' twit?"

" What if it wasn't really his fault?" Anders pressed, glancing to where Nathaniel and Salana had last been visible, both of them now out of sight. " What if someone put a spell on him?"

" I've seen mages set things on fire and turn them to ice," Oghren sniffed. " I've seen them turn into giant bugs and bring the dead to life, but I ain't never seen them make a grown man betray the one thing he's supposed to love more than anything in the world."

" You'd be surprised," Anders mused.

" Anora ain't a mage so it's a moot point."

" I suppose," Anders shrugged. " I just, can't help but thinking that there is more to it than, she was there, had a pulse, so he had to… everything I'd heard about the king until all this said you'd never find a man more right and proper."

" Well if it's one thing I've learned about women," Oghren grunted. " It's that you _never_ really know them. Anora may have been stripped of all her power but…"

The dwarf tapped his temple.

" … shifty."

Salana's breastplate hit the spongy earth with a squishy thud, and was soon joined by both gauntlets.

" What are you doing?" he sighed heavily.

" Come on Nathaniel," she prompted shortly, tossing her right bracer at his feet. " You think you can _make me_ do it your way then let's go, _make me_."

He blinked and slowly shook his head; was she serious?

" I'm not going to brawl with you Salana," he exhaled.

" Yes you are," she disagreed, throwing her right bracer at him with enough force to make him grunt when he caught it against his chest.

" No, I'm not," he insisted, dropping the bracer down with the other one.

" Then I'm going to kick your sorry ass so hard you won't be able to walk, let alone follow me anywhere," she declared tetchily.

" What is this? Residual rage because you didn't get to throw a punch at Albain?" he inquired, backing up as she approached him.

" No," she hissed, but the continuation of her sentence was to throw her fist forwards at his face.

Deftly Nathaniel dodged to the left, though he hadn't _really_ expected her to try and hit him.

" Salana stop," he grumbled, managing those two words before she wheeled around at his back and connected a solid blow against his kidneys.

Gasping he stumbled forwards, shocked at the ferocity of her attack, and when he turned it was to find her driving at him again.

" You want me to make the decisions when it suits you," she growled. " And when it doesn't, it's do what you're told!"

" I never…" he began, ducking as she swung again, and catching her ankle as she followed the motion of her arm with the sideways thrust of her leg. "… Maker, will you stop?"

With a grunt of exertion he tipped her back. Had the ground been more solid her impact with it might have caused all the air to rush from her lungs, but as it was, much of the force of her landing was absorbed. She rolled and began to scramble to her feet, but Nathaniel wasn't going to give her another chance to take a swipe at him.

Grabbing hold of the back of her now muddy tunic, he drove her at the tree, and she had no choice but to brace for impact or connect with her face.

" You don't think that I'm ordering you around because it suits me," he hissed against her ear, bending her right arm into the small of her back, the other helplessly sandwiched between her own body and the rough trunk of the tree. " So you can stop acting all offended and hurt because I know you're just trying to protect me."

" And you know so much," she spat, her face flushed with embarrassment at being so easily neutralised.

" Ha, see?" Oghren smirked triumphantly, pointing back at the tree when Salana and Nathaniel came back into view. " That looks promising, no armor."

" Ahh, or Nathaniel has completely lost it and we should go and help the Commander," Anders put forward.

" What in Andraste's name is going on up there?" Arturu squinted, following the gaze of the two Ferelden's and spying the apparently beleaguered Warden Commander.

" Training exercise," Oghren answered.

" You're in pain but you don't really want to die," Nathaniel told her gruffly, gripping her wrist more tightly as she began to struggle. " You'd only leave us behind because you're tired of seeing the people you care about hurt."

" Wrong!" she snarled kicking her leg back up at the knee, right between his legs.

Even from their distance, Oghren, Anders _and_ Arturu saw Nathaniel's eyes bulge, and water, and his entire body tense before he staggered backwards.

" I bet that hurt," Salana grunted as she shook out the arm he had been holding, but it didn't look like she was finished as she advanced on where he had slumped against the ground cupping his crotch.

" You don't have to, ugh, hide all your heartache behind this hostility," he panted, the pitch of his words undulating somewhat.

" Don't patronise me!" she shouted, throwing herself at him, sending them both tumbling down the hill and splashing into the shallows of the swamp.

For a moment the both of them remained submerged, Salana keeping him beneath the murky water with the weight of her body until she had the presence of mind to rock back and allow him to surface.

There they sat, Salana straddling him, Nathaniel's arms around her waist, large bugs circling them both hungrily. Her hair had partially escaped from its usual confinement and stuck to her cheeks, dark slashes that made it look as if a drake had raked her with its claws. Muddy water dribbled from her hairline and into her eyes and dropped from the point of her chin that lowered with her lids.

" Did Anora go quietly?" Nathaniel asked her softly, not moving, but neither had she.

" Of course not," she exhaled thickly, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing. " She said, she said that she had convinced him that he didn't have to fear her, because he already knew what she was after. She used _me_ to make him feel so sad that he just, needed it to stop; but I can't believe that, can I? Alistair isn't, he wasn't schooled in politics or manipulative intrigue, but is it really possible to subvert love, just like that? And if it is, why bother? Why not just 'march down the Architect's throat'?"

" There… must be another explanation," he forced out, though his own heart told him to play to the idea that Alistair was weak, that he simply had not loved her enough. " But you won't ever find it," he continued, lifting his hand from the water and beginning to gently pick the strands of hair from her face. " If you don't let me, _us_, your Grey Wardens, help you defeat this foe."

She wasn't so lost in her own misery that she did not _hear_, that she did not _see_, and this time she had to acknowledge it.

" Anora is not the first time that I have…" she began quietly, taking the long way around to meeting his gaze. " … conscripted out of spite. I may have spoken of redemption, but I was too cowardly to cut you down like that vengeance-poisoned part of my soul wanted me to. I thought maybe you wouldn't survive the Joining, you'd be just another poor bastard who didn't quite make the grade and my conscience would be clear; but you did.

Now I'm, looking at you looking at me, and wishing that I hadn't inflicted all this on you."

" I'm glad you did," he smiled crookedly, meeting her solemn admittance with good humor. " Even if I won't walk straight for a week."

Sniffing, she chuckled.

" Well if you think I'm kissing it better you've got another thing coming Nathaniel Howe."

" Hey!" came a call from beneath the tree at the top of the hill, and Salana turned her head to see Arturu, Oghren and Anders close behind him. " Swimming?"

" Come on in Arturu, the water is lovely," Salana replied, looking back at Nathaniel who nodded, before she wriggled backwards and pulled herself arduously to her feet.

Nathaniel took her offered hand, but teetered on his feet a little, clearly quite sore from the blow she had landed to his groin; however, that wasn't what Arturu was thinking.

" Training exercise?" he perked skeptically, looking between the two, and he was the first to react to what happened next, even before Salana.

The only warning that something was amiss, was the sudden appearance of bubbles on the water's surface. When it broke, however, it was in a dramatic spray that rushed forward, only partially concealing the reaching, sinuous arms of something still mostly hidden.

Though Nathaniel was the closer prey, those slick, barbed tendrils coiled quickly around Salana's ankle, even as she tried to scramble from the water. The Wardens reached for their weapons and began down the hill as Salana was dragged back towards deeper water, but only Nathaniel was able to snatch her wrist.

Even leaning back with all of his strength, his grip quickly began to slip.

" Nathaniel let go!" Salana shrieked frantically, aware that she _was_ going to be pulled under, no matter what he did to try and prevent it.

" No!" he growled through grit teeth, clamping his other hand around her arm and locking his fingers.

As the three Wardens behind them splashed into the shallows, Salana was lifted high into the air and Nathaniel was dragged from his feet with her.

" Let go you fool!" she shrieked. " Let go!"

" No!" he hissed, and there was no time for anything more.

As quickly as it had attacked, its quarry firmly in its grasp, the creature dove down far deeper than that water should have allowed it, and both Salana and Nathaniel disappeared.

Blinking in shock, Arturu, Oghren and Anders just stood there knee deep; and the water's surface settled.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

**End of the war**

_Crickets were chirping quietly outside the tent, a gentle, repetitious lullaby that Salana had heard a thousand times before. The body beside her was warm, nuzzled against her so closely she had to concentrate to determine where her flesh ended and his began. _

" _Mmm, do we have to battle the darkspawn today?" Alistair grumbled against her shoulder, rolling over and folding his arm across her stomach. " I mean, we could take one day off right?"_

_Salana said nothing, her eyes tightly shut as she listened to the casual way he spoke; there was nothing wrong with their situation, nothing odd, it was just another morning on the quest to slay the archdemon._

" _Hey," he prompted, and though she could not see him, there was a grin in his voice. " Your heart is racing."_

_She shivered as his lips followed this statemen,; soft, warm kisses against her throat, but they ceased after a moment when she did not react._

" _I know you know this is a team sport," he chuckled, and she felt him shifting, and Salana swallowed as his weight folded over her and his arms formed a frame around her face._

" _I know my bed hair is a little unsightly," he smirked. " But you could look at me you know."_

" _I'm afraid," Salana said meekly._

" _What?" Alistair frowned. " Wha… afraid of what?"_

" _That when I open my eyes, you won't be you and I won't be me," she admitted, her lips trembling._

" _But who else would we be my darling?" he inquired honestly, smoothing his fingers around her hairline before kissing her softly._

" _This is the last time," she exhaled, and opened her eyes._

" _See?" Alistair perked brightly, peering down into her face with that cheeky smile that melted Salana's heart every time. " Not much to look at, I know, but the best I can do I'm sorry to say."_

_She met his light-hearted banter with a fierceness that caught him totally by surprise._

" _Wow," he gasped when she finally released him. " Those must have been some pretty nasty nightmares."_

" _They were," she told him breathily, clinging to his shoulder blades and burying her face against his neck._

" _We're going to win this," he reassured her. " And when we do, things will be better, I promise."_

" _You promise?" she repeated, once more looking into his face, perhaps hoping too much._

" _Oh I suppose you require a demonstration hmm?" he mused, digging forwards with his pelvis, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Salana allowed herself to believe that her life was more than nightmares and blood._

_What should have been a blissful release from tension and expectation, however, was interrupted by the sound of horses and heavily armored bodies._

" _Bandits," Alistair hissed, rolling away and snatching up his underwear, and Salana did the same._

_They burst from the tent with weapons in hand to meet with a group of soldiers at least thirty strong, some of whom Salana recognised._

" _Surrender you weapon Salana," Warden Commander Albain instructed curtly, dismounting with Arturu beside him._

" _What is the meaning of this?" Alistair asserted, looking completely ridiculous brandishing his sword so underdressed, and it was evident to all what had been interrupted._

" _For crimes against the Orlesian Empire and collusion with the darkspawn," Albain declared. " Salana Cousland is hereby under arrest, to be transported directly to Val Royeaux where awaits her just punishment."_

" _What?" Alistair blinked, increasingly confused._

" _No!" came a shout from somewhere in the pack, and an unarmed, unarmored body dropped inelegantly from horseback and stumbled forward, stopping only when Arturu tripped him. " They will execute you!"_

" _Nathaniel," Salana scowled, as Arturu placed his heavy boot against the centre of Nathaniel's back and shoved him down into the dirt._

" _If you resist," Albain continued staunchly. " The consequences for your friends shall be much worse."_

" _Now see here," Alistair interjected. " Collusion with the darkspawn, are you completely mad?"_

_Three Chevaliers moved forward, smirks of satisfaction lighting the malice in their eyes, but Alistair made it obvious by his stance that he meant to engage them if they drew any closer._

" _The guillotine awaits you," Albain pointed out. " But it need not be so for your comrades."_

" _This is an outrage," Alistair snarled. " You have no evidence for these contemptible claims."_

_He knew there could be no evidence; Salana had been with him every day since Ostagar._

" _I let them in," Salana said in a small voice._

" _There was one who was not killed," Arturu said, and a soldier wearing the uniform of the Val Royeaux palace guard stepped forward. His face was broken, a monstrous slash through his right eye and dividing his cheek in two._

" _It was her," he confirmed. " Dancing in her nightgown, cutting her way down the corridor like a demon."_

" _I let them in," Salana repeated._

" _And now they know," the Architect said from behind, and all eyes then turned to him._

" _What is that?" Alistair blurted, not sure exactly who was the greater threat, the Orlesians or the monster._

" _Even if you are able to defeat me Warden Commander," the Architect continued serenely. " Your return to Val Royeaux will not be in triumph, but in chains, and despite their assurances, do you really believe that your companions will be released without charge?"_

" _You have my word," Albain put in._

" _The word of an Orlesian," Alistair pointed out sourly._

" _You are an impressive fighter," the Architect continued, but as he did he turned to Alistair who straightened. " Perhaps you could even defeat all these men and escape."_

" _Oh," Alistair dropped, no longer in his underwear, but in his full, royal suit of armor. " And relations with Orlais were being repaired so nicely," he went on. " If you were to resist, it might cause a very unpleasant international incident."_

" _Don't listen to him!" Nathaniel shouted. " It's not him Salana, it's not really him!"_

" _Don't get me wrong, Alistair perked. " I don't much like the idea of them cutting your head off, but you did open the palace doors and admit the darkspawn that tried to kill the empress so… it might be best for everyone if you just, went along."_

_The Veshialle dropped from Salana's grip and clattered to the ground, and Albain and his men began forward, only to be stopped by a luminous green barrier that protected both she and the Architect._

" _The fate of Thedas has always been meant for your hands," the Architect told her gently, spidery fingers curling over her shoulders. " A blind man could see as much in the way your life, and each decision you have made, has rippled consequences beyond the power of kings and demons and dark gods; but you __**are**__ just one, one human carrying the fate of all, and there is little left of your fragile heart now, is there?"_

" _Do not give up," Nathaniel hissed desperately, trying to draw her focus away from the withering of her resolve. " There is more than pain, more than darkness!"_

" _Does this war ever end?" she sighed heavily._

" _Of course it does," the Architect answered. " Let go the anger and the hate. Let go the nightmare you live every time you take up arms. Exhale and rest your mind, and allow others to bare the weight you've carried long enough."_

" _Salana no!" Nathaniel insisted, and the Architect looked over at him through the magical force field that shielded he and his prey, and for a moment the creature actually looked a little irritated._

" _Peace," she mouthed. " Will there be peace?"_

" _And an endless silence behind your eyes," the Architect assured._

_When she lifted her head, her eyes were swimming. Alistair stood beside Albain just staring at her expectantly; but he was wrong. Those were not the eyes she remembered, but the abandon that Anora had spoken of, abandon that needed to be real if she was to truly give up._

" _Let there be, no further loss," the Architect soothed._

" _Give myself to you?" she whispered, looking down at the ground and the Veshialle that lay upon it. " If it is to end," she continued, taking hold of the weapon once more, ghostly ice vapors falling from the blade. " It will end…"_

_As she turned the axe blade slowly towards herself, her eyes shifted from Alistair, down to Nathaniel._

"… _but I die human."_

_Nathaniel reached forward, though for what could not be said. He could not have penetrated the barrier any more than he could have reached Salana had it not been there._

_The Architect stepped to the side as her body slumped, and though bleeding from the gaping wound that she had inflicted upon her throat was somewhat inhibited by the frost enchantment, bleed she did._

Nathaniel gasped awake, his mouth dry and heart pounding so hard he struggled to catch his breath; but he abandoned even attempts at that when his eyes finally focused upon the hand laying before his face.

Frantically he sat up, fighting back the dizziness that threatened to floor him once more, and rolled Salana over onto his arm.

" It was just a dream," he hissed, smoothing the hair from her face, but her skin was pale and cold, and though his pulse raced in panic, hers did not. " It wasn't real Salana, it was just a dream," he insisted, pushing back her eyelids, only to find that her pupils did not contract.

" I honestly did not think, that she would choose death," the Architect admitted rather solemnly, peering down at the pair of Grey Wardens on the stone floor.

" You do not get to die like this," Nathaniel panted, looking Salana up and down, but there was no wound for him to tend, no means by which he could rouse her from that which had passed from nightmare to reality. " You can't die like this," he shuddered out, pulling her limp body against his chest and sobbing against her cheek. " There is still love to live for."

" Is it not a pity?" the Architect inquired rhetorically with a slow nod. " Is it not a bitter, disappointment, for one so young and with so much potential to be wasted on martyrdom?"

" You did this!" Nathaniel shouted, all those things restrained, all those things kept hidden and words not properly expressed, bubbled from the fortress he had built inside him and emerged like balefire. " She _spared_ you!" he roared, glowering his unadulterated hatred up at the monster. " Her life was not yours to take!"

" On the contrary Grey Warden," the Architect disagreed gently, never rising to provocation. " She is as much of me, as I am of her, her passing shall leave an irreconcilable hollow within me."

" Don't you dare speak as if you knew her, as if you cared!"

" Of all the Grey Warden blood I have taken, in all my research and experimentation, there is nothing like her. _Who_ loses everything they have known and loved and rises from the ashes like the phoenix? _Who_ is snatched from noble comforts and poisoned with taint, but fights it without pause?"

Lifting his arms, the Architect rose from the top of the stairs and began to float effortlessly down towards the warded circle that held the Wardens captive.

" _Who_, after all the evil she has seen in the world, still finds hope and the promise for goodness in a monster like myself, and spares him the fate of his brethren?"

" You destroyed her," Nathaniel charged, baring his teeth like an animal, clutching Salana tightly like he expected the Architect to physically rip her from his arms.

" Return to your comrades," the creature instructed. " Mourn, and erect monuments in all places touched by her fortitude of conscience."

" No," Nathaniel growled. " I'm not leaving her here for you to…"

" Yes, you are," the Architect assured him, and a blinding flash of white light struck solidly against Nathaniel's consciousness.

* * *

" Noooo!" Nathaniel screamed, then began spluttering as he inhaled a throat full of insects. The stars mocked him from their seat in the heavens, and a hot, moist wind howled through the rushes to further the insult.

Shouts rose up in the cavernous void that followed his booming expression of rage, but even as the sound of splashing and approaching bodies heralded the arrival of others, Nathaniel did not move. For all his sorrow, for all the boundless grief now permeating his being, it was the plague of angry 'what ifs' that paralysed him.

What if she had decided to kill the Architect back then?

What if she had returned to Denerim instead of staying at Vigils Keep to help rebuild?

What if the king had had just half the conviction of his wife?

It was Marceau who sighted him first, just floating against the bank of the lake, Anders close behind him splashing heedlessly into the shadows.

" Nathaniel," the mage prompted, as Marceau took a hold of Nathaniel's shoulders and dragged him out of the water.

Others were investigating the immediate area, Oghren barking orders to spread out and find Salana, but as Anders looked into Nathaniel's face, he could see that their search was a pointless one.

" Come on," he prompted. " Let's get him back to camp."

Nathaniel said nothing as they walked, Oghren on one side and Anders on the other. He had divulged nothing, but both dwarf and mage had observed the man and his commander; if she was alive, if there had been even the smallest chance of saving her, then no matter how wounded, Nathaniel would have been fighting tooth and nail for them to continue looking.

But he did not.

The other Grey Wardens watched the sober return with mixed expressions. The Ferelden Warden Commander, Blight ender, queen and hero to her people, had come to them with an offering of aid, and yet it turned out that she had brought the Architect upon them in the first place. Some put this aside and bowed their heads in respect for all the good she had done, and others looked away, trying to hide their sentiment of one reaping what they had sewn, from the Ferelden party.

Anders watched Nathaniel ignore it all, and though he certainly had not loved Salana, he owed her as many did; had it not been for her, he would have been taken back to the Tower by the Templars again, and again, and again.

Now she was gone.

" Have you no information about where the Architect is hiding?" Albain pressed, dogging Nathaniel's steps to the campfire.

" You could search for years and never find it," Nathaniel answered, his voice hollow and empty.

" Ugh," the Orlesian grunted in frustration. " You must be able to give us something."

" I wish I could give you the recollection of her last moments," Nathaniel responded, but there was no anger there.

" Was hers the only sacrifice in the battle against the darkspawn?" Albain questioned, but it was more like a statement. " You do her no honor indulging in feeble lament."

" I will be returning to Denerim," came Nathaniel's reply. " This news I carry personally to the ears of the king."

" We're at your disposal Warden Commander," Oghren drawled. " Our Commander wouldn't want us to let that demon get away."

" Again," Albain put in, and all three Ferelden's scowled; it was Anders, surprisingly, that gave their disapproval voice.

" Let it go Commander," he declared, his tone uncharacteristically tight and unforgiving. " She has paid her debt."

" When the creature is dead her debt will be paid," Albain corrected, and left their campfire.

" Bastard," Anders dropped the moment the man was from earshot. " Are you sure you want to go back to Ferelden alone?"

" That had never been my plan," Nathaniel exhaled. " But it is now."

" For what it's worth," Oghren said soberly, placing his hand against Nathaniel's arm. " I'm sorry. It does the lady no justice to die like that."

" She wanted to die knowing that she was not what he would make of her," Nathaniel said quietly, before he got to his feet. " The king will… no doubt send word of further orders when he has had time to assess the situation."

* * *

Through the long, slow of the tunnel back to Val Royeaux, to the port and across the Waking Sea, Nathaniel heard Salana's voice. It whispered on the wind, chattered in the curl of the waves and thundered in the pound of his horse's hooves.

" _That royal screw up my husband?"_ she had inquired, her voice not yet troubled by scandal or deception; but it was not to last. _" Have I not been faithful?" _she had questioned so desperately. _" Have I not held true to every, single, vow that I took?"_

If Orlais had sent a messenger ahead to pre-empt Nathaniel's sorry news, Denerim showed no evidence of it. Perhaps word had spread to the commoners that all was not roses between the king and his queen, maybe it had even reached the layman's ears that his Majesty had gotten another woman pregnant, but the people seemed happy just the same.

Nathaniel had not prepared any speech, could not have with his own inner voice drowned out by Salana's.

" _Now I'm, looking at you looking at me, and wishing that I hadn't inflicted all this on you."_

That hurt most of all.

" His Majesty will see you now," the palace attendant declared, and inhaling a deep breath, Nathaniel pushed away from the wall and strode through the doors into the Denerim throne room.

" Nathaniel Howe," Alistair acknowledge, rising from the throne to step down and meet the man on the same level. " What news from…"

Nathaniel just looked at the king, Salana's king.

He thought he would relish in the pain he was sure his news would bring the other Grey Warden, but now knew it would be a hollow victory.

" _But it was the whispering of his good nature in my heart that stayed my hand in the dungeon of Vigils Keep,"_ Salana had told him, and no matter how Nathaniel wanted to despise Alistair for the agony he had inflicted upon her, he knew he was about to see the reflection of his own heart breaking.

" Salana is dead," he said bluntly, quickly, but the speed of his delivery did not mitigate the impact that those three small words had upon the king.

Alistair did not utter shock or disbelief, but like a statue stood there staring; if he did not move, then perhaps he could pretend that he had not heard.

" The Architect was hunting her," Nathaniel pressed on, barely able to deal with the pressure of his own pain without carrying Alistair's also. " Using her," he continued, his voice strong enough to be heard only by the two of them. " He offered her peace from all her pain, from everything, but she chose to take her own life rather than serve him."

A shuddering, choking sob broke the quiet, a rock thrown into a small pool. That terrible splash displaced some of Nathaniel's calm, and he grit his teeth as the king turned away, looking for something, anything to support him.

" Even in her dreams she laid with you," he hissed, but the anger was not really directed at Alistair. " Even when you offered her up to the Orlesians for execution she refused to believe that you would; she _believed_ that you loved her still, somehow, she believed that."

Clutching the back of a nearby chair, Alistair closed his eyes, fixing Salana's face in his mind, trying to remember her smile; but the only expression he could conjure was the last one she had left him with.

Stern.

Resolute.

Hiding her hurt behind fortified walls.

" I pray that brings you some comfort," Nathaniel spat, his own cheeks burning as each tear carved its path from the fracture in his soul to the point of his chin.

" No," Alistair whispered thickly. " There will never be comfort, not ever again."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER ****TEN**

**Things that go stomp in the Deep**

Nathaniel rode beside Alistair in silence. There was nothing left to say, no words that matched the devastation of either man. The king wore an expression that accurately mirrored how Nathaniel felt; the sun shone brightly above them as they moved towards Highever, but both were but husks, breathing, but sure a large part of them was dead as well.

In Highever, the news of Salana's passing was greeted by her brother with equal grief; he was now the only surviving member of his family. The entire community gathered to mourn, and though there was no body for them to return to the Maker, a symbolic pyre was set alight by Alistair.

As their king, he thought he should say something about hope and glory, but as a man, ashamed, he thought that each syllable he uttered sounded like hypocrisy.

" Throughout the ages, we have venerated those who willingly sacrificed themselves to make life in Thedas that little bit more safe," he declared, and though he had made royal addresses to larger audiences, it was clear that the king was struggling with the appearance of strength.

The people saw.

They understood.

They shared in his pain.

" They take into themselves all the horrors and face the nightmares that threaten us, and ask so little in return. I lack the eloquence of my, my better half," he continued thickly, and those close to the front of the gathering could see his tears glistening in the light of Salana's fire. " To aptly impart the breadth of loss that I, that Ferelden must feel, as we are robbed of the best among us. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death…"

Alistair closed his eyes. The world was tilting so violently it threatened to throw him from his feet.

"… sacrifice," he choked out.

The sisters of the Chantry echoed the Grey Warden motto with verses of hope, but Alistair could not see, could not hear, could not feel.

He wanted to forget the moment that he had decided to answer Anora's request for an audience, wanted to erase the honeyed words that she had poured into his ear, but they replayed as if to further deride his right to cry. His ribs threatened to turn in on his broken heart and squeeze from it the last part of him that deserved to love. There was nothing in Anora's words now that could have made him shatter Salana's trust so completely, and angry and frustrated he searched for why he had.

He knew that he inflicted greater injustice upon Salana's memory by allowing self-pity to break him, but had he had but a fraction of that which they revered in her now, she would never have gone to Orlais.

" If you listen to that voice, your Majesty," Nathaniel said quietly, knowing it all too well. " Then you shall no longer be able to hear hers."

" I can see that you came to, care for, her Nathaniel," Alistair declared, either not afraid to show this man the girth of his emotions, or simply unable to restrain them. There was, however, no accusation in his tone. " And I hope that in that, she was able to find some respite from the hurt I pressed upon her."

" There is peace for her now," Nathaniel nodded slowly. " And our penance for being less than she, is to ensure that what she built, does not fall to ruin."

" I want the Architect's head on a pike," Alistair hissed, clutching the goblet in his fist so hard that the toughened metal began to give beneath his fingers.

" But if you enter Orlais," Nathaniel began.

" It is still too soon, I know," Alistair finished, and the king's eyes narrowed on the other Grey Warden. " Take up her mantle," he declared, his back straightening. " We are not about vengeance, but let there not be a single darkspawn upon this earth that does not taste your wrath."

Never could Nathaniel have dreamed that he would end up as Commander of the Grey, even if only as a temporary measure until Weisshaupt sent word or replacement, but he understood that the title that Alistair offered him now, was not truly the same as the one that Salana had so fittingly worn.

" It will be done, my king," Nathaniel bowed. " It will be done."

* * *

Though travel to and from Orlais took considerable time, when Nathaniel entered Val Royeaux once more, it seemed as if only yesterday he had seen Salana running through the halls of the palace in her nightgown. He had pondered his return, and whether what he had viewed in the Architect's nightmare had been true.

Salana's death had been.

Had the Orlesians really made the same conclusion that she had? If they had, then he expected to be met with hostility, perhaps even placed under arrest; but when he arrived at the Grey Warden barracks it was not to shackles.

Something worse.

_Anora_.

Now it was evident to even those who did not know the story, that the woman was pregnant. She wore it well, however, and despite the simplicity of her attire seemed to glow with a blush of health that made Nathaniel want to spit in her face.

The Architect was a creature born to evil, but the demon inside Anora was one cultivated, one chosen.

" Oh that _is_ rich," she chuckled when she sighted him. " The son of Rendon Howe in the plate of a Warden Commander; what would he say?"

" Like your words Anora, what my father would say is of little consequence," he told her directly, striding across the common room, but she was far from finished.

" Is that what you told Salana?" Anora called, and Nathaniel could not let it go.

The two Orlesian Wardens who also sat in the chamber also, looked over as Nathaniel's steady gate brought Anora within arm's reach.

" I uphold Salana's decision to conscript you rather than tearing out your poisoned heart, _only_ in _her_ honor," he hissed. " But when you birth that child, I hope you _choke_ at your Joining, and return to the side of that monster _your_ father."

" Awfully testy aren't we Commander?" Anora perked, unyielding despite his clear and present malice. " Have you forgotten who murdered your father? Or…"

She smiled that infuriatingly, self-assured smile.

" … Were her words in your ears, and _other_ things in _other_ places, as powerful as mine were to his Majesty?"

" Disrespectful wretch!" Nathaniel snarled, collecting Anora by the throat, and heedless of her condition he pinned her against the wall, much to the shock of the two other Wardens. " Honor is a thing of which you know nothing," he growled. " And should you by some miscarriage of justice survive the Joining, I relish the thought of beating the concept into you."

" And _that_ is the honorable approach," Anora gurgled out and for a second Nathaniel's grip tightened before it fell away.

She gasped in a large breath before gingerly touching her throat, but the smugness never left her eyes.

" What happens to Ferelden now Warden Commander?" she croaked as he walked away fuming. " The only backbone our kingdom has is gone, and governance lies solely in the hands of an alter boy!"

Nathaniel pushed briskly past the palace attendant as he left the barracks' common room, didn't even register that she was there. How had Salana been so restrained? How she not gutted that vile woman was completely beyond him.

Though he indeed intended to follow through with the decision Salana had made to make Anora a Grey Warden, he could not image what practical purpose the woman would be. The taint bound all Grey Wardens together to the darkspawn that was true, but it did not magically instill loyalty, nor did it transform pampered princesses into warriors.

" _Maybe I just give HER to the Architect,"_ he mused darkly, continuing onward to his destination.

* * *

The Orlesian Wardens, Oghren and Anders had spent weeks scouring the Nahashin Marshes for entrances to the Architect's lair, but had discovered nothing. It was only during attempts to install structural reinforcements to the tunnels from Val Royeaux that a minor cave-in revealed a second set of tunnels heading to the southeast.

Unlike those leading to the Marshes, these passageways would not require improvement, mages confirming that the strange green glow of the rock was a magical field holding back the weight of all above them.

It was the only lead they had, but one that reignited the fever of their efforts.

By the time Nathaniel joined them, Albain and his men had set up an outpost at the end of the tunnel where Oghren was examining Dwarven symbols at the entrance to what could only have been a Dwarven city.

" So it falls upon you to fill her boots," Albain noted in an off hand manner. " Warden Commander Howe."

Nathaniel had been about to respond when Oghren interrupted.

" Would you believe it? Undrual Thaig!" he marveled, dusting off his gloves. " I'm bettin' there hasn't even been dwarves down here in… well since the Divine Age."

" Something has been down here," Anders declared, joining the group with Marceau and one of the other mage Wardens. " And happily, it doesn't seem to like the darkspawn very much."

" We've seen those corrupted spiders do a right number on a Genlock," Oghren pointed out.

" Well I'm far from a weapons expert but, I don't think the injuries I've seen on these darkspawn were inflicted by any spiders I've seen, even those god awful bulbous, hairy, twitchy… ugh."

" Like that one?" Oghren perked, pointing behind Anders, and the mage nearly jumped on top of him.

" You were saying, Anders?" Nathaniel prompted, his tone unimpressed by antics he might once have tolerated.

" Right Nath… I mean, Warden Commander," Anders nodded, but he glowered at Oghren. " These injuries were made by something much bigger and heavier. They weren't stabbed or slashed, they were crushed, quite brutally I might add, there was some serious hate behind each blow."

" Genocidal ogre?" Oghren suggested.

" Let us hope it is of the mind to think its enemy's enemy is its friend," Marceau put in.

" The city is a maze," Oghren reported. " Undrual was a contradiction; paranoid about security but you think he was going to back down when the first Blight hit? Pffft. This place is going to be riddled with traps."

" I haven't got a problem with traps," Nathaniel snorted. " We follow the bodies. Whatever is down here killing the darkspawn might have an idea where the Architect is holed up."

Albain perked a brow at the way Nathaniel just assumed he could order them about.

" The hero of Fereleden you are _not_," he pointed out stiffly.

" Let me rephrase," Nathaniel said slowly, shifting his feet and eyeing the man. " Oghren, Anders and _I_, will be following the bodies. What you and your men do Warden Commander, I honestly don't care."

Oghren and Anders said nothing, just followed Nathaniel as he began down the flight of time worn stairs.

" You been gone a while, Commander," Oghren said, not offering commendation on the man's promotion. " How'd it go back home?"

" Do you really think the man wants to talk about it?" Anders sighed, rolling his eyes.

" Ferelden is in shock, as you might expect," Nathaniel answered, all business. " I left half way through an official week of mourning, though I would not be surprised if it continues even now."

" Ugh, you see that?" Anders cringed, pointing down at what might once have been a Hurlock, if there was anything of its head that still resembled a head. " What does that to a skull?"

" He he he," Oghren belly chuckled.

Both Nathaniel and Anders looked at him.

" What? I can't be the only one who finds that funny."

" You think those Orlesian Wardens will help if we run into whatever did that?" Anders inquired. " I mean I know we defeated the Mother and all but…"

There was a thunderous crash from somewhere not far away, thankfully saving Anders from the rest of that sentence that ended with,_ 'we had Salana with us then.'_

" I didn't mean…" the mage began again, but once again did not get to finish.

This time he was interrupted by a charge of darkspawn, all of them screeching and howling.

" Fireball!" Nathaniel barked as he drew his bow and dropped the first Genlock before it even saw him; but the darkspawn were not actually rushing forward to attack them.

They were fleeing.

When Anders' fireball erupted before them, those darkspawn not incinerated were flung in all directions and set upon swiftly by Oghren and Nathaniel, but the Wardens paused in their task when heavy stomping alerted them to the approach of whatever the darkspawn had been so frantically running from.

" Pesky rodents," came an oddly metallic and somewhat raspy voice. " I am not built for speed."

" What is _that?_" Anders blinked, lifting his hands as the large stone figure trudged into view, its eyes glowing and thin strands of blue lightening flashing around the crystals embedded in its shoulders.

" Well strip my armor and call me casteless," Oghren smirked, then glanced at Anders whose hands had begun to smolder. " I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Proving that he was not an ill-mannered alcoholic dwarf, Anders' hands burst into flames that leapt forward to consume the granite figure.

" Don't say I didn't warn ya," Oghren exhaled, shaking his head and waiting for the fire to subside.

" Does it wish me to rip its arms off, or is that its version of a warm welcome?" Shale dropped, stepping towards Anders.

" You know what," Oghren grinned. " I could intervene but that image is pretty tempting."

The golem ceased its advance on Anders and looked down at the dwarf.

" This one is familiar," Shale declared, carved face unable to betray emotion. " It was one of Its companions, and yet, I do not see It."

" That made no sense," Anders boggled, but still seemed relieved that the creature was distracted from its plan to rip his arms off.

" Yeah," Oghren grunted. " Not so funny story that one."

" Oghren?" Nathaniel prompted.

" Right right," the dwarf nodded. " This here is Shale. She was with the ahh, the Commander when she went lookin' for Branka in the Deep Roads before the archdemon was destroyed."

" That _thing_ is a _she_?" Anders blurted.

" Once," Shale corrected, moving its head up and down to indicate it was giving Anders a visual appraisal. " Is _it_ a _she_? Its attire seems contradictory to the pitch of its voice."

" Bwahaha!" Oghren roared. " What you doin' all the way down here?"

" There seemed little point standing around in Its fancy palace," Shale explained with a shrug. " But the fleeing darkspawn in the thaigs near Orzammar presented no challenge, so small they don't even make that satisfying crunching sound when you stomp their ribs."

To emphasise its point, Shale stepped to the right and put one massive foot all the way through the chest of a dead Hurlock.

" But you found a challenge here?" Oghren questioned, looking around at the broken bodies that did not look any different to all the other daskspawn that they had killed in the past.

" These pathetic meat sacks? No," Shale agreed, twisting its foot, leaving a bloody smear against the stones. " But there are _others_ here, darkspawn that curse, darkspawn that think."

" You've seen Disciples?" Nathaniel perked, narrowing his eyes. " Where?"

" They come from the protected passages," Shale replied, turning its head to fix luminous eyes upon Anders. " A mages work no doubt; it's always… mages."

" Hey, what have you got against mages?" Anders scowled.

" Wrong question," Oghren snorted, and Anders shifted his feet.

" Ugh, is there a _right_ question?"

" Shale," Nathaniel said. " These protected passages, can you show us where they are?"

" Well I suppose I could," Shale mused, and appeared to be considering this as its head tilted back a little. " But the chances of it surviving very long down here, even with my aid, are not especially good."

" The monster making those talkin' darkspawn killed Salana," Oghren put bluntly. " We only need to live long enough to return the favor."

" _It_ is dead?" Shale perked, surprise evident in its tone. " I find that _very_ difficult to believe. Even for an organic life form It displayed exceptional fortitude."

" Believe me, you ain't the only one findin' it hard to come to terms with," Oghren mumbled gruffly.

" Can you take us there?" Nathaniel pressed.

" I can show it the way," Shale replied, but its voice was somehow even less human now. " But it will need more than steel to dispel the magic that shields the tunnels."

" Maybe your girlfriends can help?" Oghren smirked at Anders, despite the fact that the two Orlesian mages were both male.

" Ha ha very funny," Anders sniffed, beginning to move slowly back the way they'd come. " I'll go and ask them while you… get your rocks off?"

" Is it referring to me?" Shale inquired, its tone making it impossible to tell whether it truly didn't know, or whether it was inferring a threat because it knew exactly what Anders was implying.

" Ahh, no," Anders said quickly and gave Nathaniel a curt nod. " Commander."

* * *

Anora looked out the window of the Grey Warden barracks' kitchen impatiently. As if channeling its mother's emotion, the baby within her gave a kick, much to Anora's disdain.

" It's far too early for you to be starting that," she muttered, not that she knew an awful lot about childbearing.

There were dishes to be done, the floors still needed to be swept and laundry needed to be hung out, but Anora was not concerned about the reprimand she would receive if she did not complete her chores.

How clever Salana must have thought she was, plucking her from Ferelden and dumping her in the hands of their enemy; but the late Warden Commander, like everyone else, had underestimated Anora's determination, her resourcefulness.

The war with Orlais may have been over, but Anora knew enough of hate to know that it could live on in silence, just waiting to rise again to the right provocation.

" _And oh how I shall provoke,_ Anora thought, sniffing a satisfied little breath as she spied a small woman in the dark blue, hooded cloak moving across the yard in her direction.

" I realise that this is most, unusual," Anora smiled, making no formal greeting or attempt at a welcome when the figure stepped into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. " But you would not be here if you did not see merit in the opportunity before you."

" I would not," the woman's smooth Orlesian voice replied, before petite white hands pushed her hood back onto narrow shoulders.

Celene I, Empress of Orlais fixed dark eyes upon the deposed queen of Ferelden, a woman who knew good and well that her power had not all been taken away with the crown.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**Genlock**

" _Let the blade pass through the flesh. Let my blood touch the ground. Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice." (Andraste 7:12) Salana heard the words echoing in her own voice but could not feel any motion in her lips. _

_Did she even have lips? _

_Was there even breath left to push words past them?_

" _She knew, when She spoke those words, that Hers would not be the last," a deep, melodic voice declared, and through the nothingness a figure began to take shape, a figure who when brought into focus flooded the void with comfort. He was known to her, and as memories of him surfaced, the idea of a smile brought warmth to a heart thought cold forever more._

" _Duncan," she exhaled, a breath that rippled across the Fade and brought light to the dark._

_There he stood, just as he had before the campfire at Ostagar prior to the battle, smiling that same, sad smile._

" _Am I dead?" she asked him, slowly moving forwards; she had been deceived before in dreams and in the Fade._

" _You are dead," Duncan confirmed gently, placing his hand on her shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. " But not yet forever."_

" _My Maker, know my heart," Salana sighed, one hand over Duncan's, the other against her own chest. " Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain." (Transfigurations 12)_

" _And if you were judged _unworthy_ of the Maker's endless pride?" Duncan inquired, turning from her to the crackling fire._

" _Unworthy?" Salana blinked. " After all I have done? All I have toiled? Duncan, do you not know anything of the path I've walked since our parting?"_

" _Has there been no joy?"_

" _Joy?" she coughed incredulously, and the fire flickered angrily before settling once more. " What point is there in joy, when in every instance circumstance turns it to pain?"_

" _Do you think you are the first to ask such a question?"_

" _Does it matter?" she growled, and with a swipe of her hand the large fire rolled away and sizzled into the snow. " Is _my_ suffering any less because others have suffered before me?"_

" _No," he admitted; a man who knew duty. " But is _your _duty to others who have yet to suffer, any less because you suffer before them?"_

" _Why?" she shouted, stamping her foot like a petulant child. " Why is it my duty, why? And don't you dare tell me that Andraste asked the same, I am _not_ Andraste."_

" _No you are not," Duncan agreed, meeting the anger and the frustration in her eyes with perfect composure. " You are Salana."_

" _My Creator, judge me whole; Find me well within Your grace. Touch me with fire that I be cleansed," she hissed, embers from the dying fire lifting to the wind and beginning to swirl around them._

" _Is it truly the Maker's approval that you seek with this song of, 'not my duty'?" Duncan inquired. " And if you had it, is that where your peace lies, if darkness holds sway over the rest of the world?"_

" _I am dead, Duncan, what more do you want?" she cried out, spreading her arms, and the embers exploded back to life, a whirlwind of balefire roaring around them._

" _People spend their entire lives in torment, desperately searching for their purpose, for their place. I would have you see, and accept yours."_

_

* * *

_

Shale stood, as Shale always did, watching as the Wardens took turns to sleep. The one they called Warden Commander tossed and turned and muttered incomprehensible phrases punctuated by Salana's name, causing the golem some confusion.

When finally Nathaniel woke, sitting up suddenly, he found Shale standing over him, squinting.

" I was about to put it out of its misery," Shale said plainly. " It will give its position away if it insists on muttering so loudly."

Putting aside the fact that he very nearly had his head stomped on, Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck and considered the golem. The creature, about which he knew very little, had been with Salana when she'd finished off the archdemon, while he had been plotting revenge for his father's death. As if he needed further evidence, that she had brought stone and crystal to a place of loyalty, spoke volumes to Salana's abilities as a leader.

" I will try to mutter more quietly," he said finally.

" It saw It, it is sure It died?" Shale asked, as Nathaniel rocked to his feet, and there was no need for clarification as to who _It_ was.

" In my arms," Nathaniel nodded soberly.

" Its arms? That seems highly improbable," Shale declared. " Especially considering Its fascination with exchanging oral lubricating fluids with the one who never shuts up. It made it king, can you believe it?"

" Some things just are, whether we believe them or not," Nathaniel philosophised.

" I see," Shale nodded. " You were close to It, and yet It was matrimonially bonded to another. Did It find it to be a more satisfactory match?"

" No," Nathaniel exhaled. " But that isn't the point."

" There is a point?" Shale dropped. " Excellent, I was beginning to nod off, which for something that requires no sleep is truly miraculous."

" The point is that we all owe her enough, that we cannot allow her death to be meaningless."

" What I do not understand," Shale drawled, as it and Nathaniel left the encampment and headed the small distance to where the three mages were working on breaking down the magical barrier. " Is why this Architect was so interested in It. Did it also want to… euh… _mate_ with It?"

" I hope not," Nathaniel cringed, the image of that truly horrifying thought turning his stomach. " No, I am fairly certain there are another reasons."

" Oh?"

" From what Oghren has told me about you Shale, you stood in that village for years and before that was a slave, and yet finally having free will you chose to follow her."

" Its quest was a worthy endeavor," Shale responded.

" One you have continued without her," Nathaniel pointed out. " For no personal gain. Salana is a symbol, representing strength and honor and hope to people fraught with fear and despair, because of the growing evil eating away at Thedas."

" And so by corrupting It, it crushes the spirit of Thedas," Shale concluded. " A sound strategy, except, I do not believe It can be corrupted."

" Agreed. The Architect is no fool, so there must be something… Mmm," Nathaniel frowned, a sudden physical pang tensing his muscles.

" Is it unwell?"

" No," Nathaniel grunted, stretching out his legs as the glow from the mages ceased and Anders turned.

" Commander," he nodded wearily. " We should now be able to weaken this section of the field enough, temporarily, to allow a contingent through."

" But?" Nathaniel prompted.

" But," Anders continued, inhaling a slow, deep breath. " Only _temporarily_. Once we go through, we're going to have to find another way out."

" We will move out as soon as you are ready," the Warden Commander declared.

* * *

" _I have accepted the consequences of my actions," Salana argued, the flames around she and Duncan growing higher, moving faster. " I guess you missed the part where I gave up my life rather than serve the Architect?"_

" _And yet your decision was for whom?" Duncan inquired gently, casting his hand against the growling tempest, where in it a shimmering image appeared. " Was it for he who loves you?"_

_Salana peered through the flickering portal at the king of Ferelden. _

Alistair sat at the end of the royal bed with the Mabari Nelthuan at his feet, the both of them forlorn.

" She spent so long away," he said quietly to the animal. " But, I still expect to look up and see her walking through that door covered head to toe in filth but, always so beautiful."

Nelthuan let out a high-pitched whine that Alistair thought was a perfect sound to exemplify how he felt. The kingdom continued to function, day followed night, but there was no heart left in it. He thought, perhaps, that if the darkspawn attacked the city now, the people would just lie down and allow evil to consume them.

As he inhaled, he flexed his fingers that felt stiff and cold; too long without holding a sword perhaps.

" _I thought, for all his faults," Salana whispered. " Our love was one thing in him that was infallible."_

" _Is it not so?" Duncan inquired._

" _Getting Anora pregnant is an interesting way of showing his love," Salana pointed out, but Duncan did not seem convinced._

" _You know as well as I do, that Alistair is incapable of betrayal," he declared. " Your faith is shaken, but not completely destroyed."_

" _Faith," she chortled, shaking her head and Alistair faded from view._

" _Did you die for he who loves you?" Duncan repeated, and another window opened._

Nathaniel let loose a flurry of arrows in quick succession before Shale, Oghren and Marceau rushed forward to greet the Disciples that had been awaiting them beyond the barrier.

There was fierceness in his eyes that did not waver, a stalwart resolve to continue until he reached his goal or was destroyed trying.

" _Uh!" Salana exclaimed. " This is pointless, Duncan. Alistair turned to Anora in his sadness and I could not be with Nathaniel because, well that much is obvious. Either way it is completely redundant because I am dead!"_

" _Did you die for them?" Duncan insisted, the image shifting from the Deep Roads across mountains and fields, through villages and cities to Grey Warden havens all across Thedas._

_In their duties they remained diligent, despite the obvious wear upon their faces. Discomfort had blossomed upon their brows, in the stiffness of their postures, in the squint of their eyes against the normal light of day._

" _What's going on?" Salana frowned. " They all look, sick?"_

" _All Grey Wardens are bound to the taint that drives the darkspawn to a Blight," Duncan explained, even though she already knew this. " And just as the darkspawn are linked by it to each other, so too are the Grey Wardens bound. What happens then, when the strongest among them submits?"_

" _If you're referring to me, let me point out again that I chose death over submission," Salana huffed._

" _Did you?" Duncan perked. " Or did you simply shift your will to the Fade for a moment's peace, leaving your body without protection against the ministrations of the Architect?"_

_Salana's eyes grew wide; this, she had not considered._

" _When there is nothing left in the heart of a person," Duncan said as if reading from scripture. " When darkness veils light and warmth, and there are no weapons that might repel encroaching doom, words may strike as powerful a blow to the scourge of despair as any weapon might rend flesh, rekindling the will, reigniting opposition."_

_As Duncan spoke, the flaming storm began to push outwards, melting away the snow in its path, and from both heat and moisture sprung new life from the soil._

" _Faith in something," he continued. " In someone, is the last thread that holds a person from _true_ emptiness, from _true_ defeat, but you did not die for them did you?"_

" _I… I did not want to become darkspawn Duncan, is that so hard to believe? How could I have known that _all_ the Grey Wardens would begin to lose their resistance to the taint? Is it too much to ask that I leave this world as myself?"_

" _But you are not yet yourself," he pointed out. " Andraste was great, Her power, Her following, Her _faith_, but She knew that even the acceptance of Her mortal husband's betrayal, even accepting the fire that ravaged Her flesh, would not stay the hand of evil forever. She knew that the Maker created opposition in all things. For earth, sky. For winter, summer. For darkness, Light, and preached that only through proving oneself worthy of all that was a gift to those the second-born, would they ever be admitted to the Golden City._

_She knew that one day, the people would need reminding."_

" _What one man gains, another has lost," Salana sighed, sinking to her knees in the long, verdant grass. " Those who steal from their brothers and sisters, do harm to their livelihood and to their peace of mind. (Transfigurations1:2-4) Is that it? Has my decision to die taken peace from all?"_

" _But what _one_ has lost, _others_ may gain," Duncan nodded but Salana's response indicated that she had not really heard him, nor understood what it truly meant._

" _So I'm selfish," she swallowed, forcing the words through a bitter laugh. " So even if I, even if beg_ the _Maker, hear my cry. Seat me by Your side in death. Make me one within Your glory, and let the world once more see Your favor?"_

" _You know the answer," Duncan said, but he was no longer standing with her there._

_The world had expanded so far, so lush, that the fire could no longer be seen, but as Salana looked up from her lap it rushed to meet her. Its heat brought with it a voice that was not her own, not Duncan's, and it reverberated solidly through each blade of grass, each bird in the sky, each breath and each concept that grounded Salana in existence._

" **No."**

" _Fine," Salana grated. " But don't expect me to be gracious in my duty."_

_

* * *

_

There were stairs to climb, to descend, chasms to cross and waves of darkspawn to wade through, but onward they pushed.

" Rest here," Nathaniel called, and none among them disagreed.

" It is looking more pasty than usual," Shale commented, looking down at Oghren.

" Ain't had a hangover this bad since I was five," the dwarf admitted, taking a generous swig from whatever was in his 'water' bladder.

" I feel it too," Anders exhaled, swallowing hard.

" Well it's no surprise that wearin' that much purple would make a man feel queasy," Oghren pointed out, but it was a half-hearted attempt to bait the mage.

" So it _is_ male then?" Shale perked, clearly not affected by whatever plagued its four companions. Oghren might have laughed, but he feared doing so would bring up his breakfast.

" Something is not right," Nathaniel said.

" Because life as a Grey Warden is full of so much ple…" Anders began, then turned away from the group to empty his stomach.

When the heaving subsided, Anders blinked the moisture from his eyes and sat up quickly as a shadow swept past him rapidly, and began to circle the darkspawn-strewn corridor.

" Sod it," he grumbled, struggling to his feet, followed by the others as they noted the same.

The shifting, formless shadow seemed to consider the group before settling above a fallen Disciple.

" Oh this looks familiar," Anders dropped as the darkness seeped into the corpse that began to move as if brought to life once more. " At least there aren't any ogres around."

By the time the Disciple had gotten to its unsteady feet, one arm dangling precariously by a single thread of tough sinew, Shale was upon it and Nathanial had fired.

" Shale wa..!" came a protest in a voice most certainly not belonging to a Disciple, but Shale could not stop the downward momentum of its massive fist. The darkspawn crumpled like a paper doll and there was a moment of complete and utter silence as the shadow began to leech from the fleshy ruin.

" Did I imagine that?" Nathaniel breathed, and like the others he had not moved a single muscle.

That broken cry repeated in his mind, but rationality revolted against the probability of it being true.

" The part where it was dead and then not," Shale questioned. " Or the part where it spoke using Its voice?"

" I heard it too," Oghren declared, looking around him like he expected the walls to come alive and eat them, or something equally as creepy as hearing Salana's voice emerge from the lips of a Disciple.

The shadow hovered, twitching as if agitated, before it moved closer to Nathaniel and disappeared once more inside the body of a Genlock.

" There it goes again," Anders muttered, readying his next spell, but Nathaniel held up his hand.

" Hold!"

The Genlock sat up, several arrows already protruding from its chest, and through beady eyes it looked up at Nathaniel.

" Don't kill me!" it beseeched quickly, but it was Salana's voice.

" Did I hit my head?" Anders exhaled. " _Really really_ hard?"

" If you did, so too did I," Marceau piped up, turning his greatsword slowly over in his grip.

" Nathaniel," the Genlock implored, its mouth filled with pointed, uneven teeth widening a little, and Nathaniel stepped back. " No!" it exclaimed. " Ugh, just listen, because you have _no_ idea how much concentration it takes not to punch myself right now."

" Salana?" Nathaniel blinked, a completely counter-intuitive question.

" Some of me," the Genlock said.

" I told it It wasn't dead," Shale dropped, a smirk in its voice. " Though It has looked better."

" I don't have time for reminiscence," the Genlock hissed, and spluttered, leaning forward on all fours before laboriously getting to its feet. " You have to find my body and destroy it," the Genlock declared. " The Architect only wanted me to give up my will so that he could use my body as a hub, through which he could reach all of the Grey Wardens across Thedas."

" Reach them how?" Oghren grunted.

" You're all sick with the darkspawn disease," the Genlock answered, and Nathaniel found himself shaking his head in disbelief as the creature took on Salana's physical mannerisms as it spoke. " Survivors of the Joining ritual become resistant to the taint," the Genlock went on. " But somehow the Architect is using my body and the bond that I share with all Grey Wardens, to eliminate that resistance and accelerate poisoning caused by the taint."

" Wipe out all the Grey Wardens?" Oghren breathed. " Damn."

" Worse than that," the Genlock declared.

" It gets worse than _that_?" Anders blurted.

" The Disciples," the Genlock prompted, taking hold of the shaft of one of the arrows and breaking it off. " When we, when I decided to let the Architect go the first time, he told us that he had been taking Grey Wardens because our resistance to the taint could free them from being driven towards the old gods. He said that the ingestion of Grey Warden blood was key to this process, but it was all a lie."

" But we've seen the Disciples talk and think, even act with conscience," Oghren pointed out.

" Because they had conscience _before_," the Genlock pressed, and it watched as the truth dawned upon Nathaniel; but apparently it did not dawn upon Anders.

" Before what?"

" The Disciples don't talk and think because they drank Grey Warden blood," Nathaniel said, locking eyes with the Genlock, searching its twisted features for the woman whose soul inhabited its body. " They _are_ the Grey Wardens."

" Sorry, what?" Marceau coughed.

" On one of the Disciples we killed outside the tunnel in the Marshes," the Genlock said. " I found an amulet of the insignia of one of Orlais' noble houses. It wasn't a trophy, it was tucked against its skin under chainmail and armor."

" We're all going to become darkspawn Disciples?" Marceau summed up.

" But the Disciples have free will," Anders pointed out. " Right? I mean, why not just kill us? Why create an army of former Grey Warden Disciples that you can't command?"

" If the Architect has been able to do this with Salana's body," Nathaniel inhaled. " Then I think it is safe to say he will find a way to control his new army."

" You have to get to my body and destroy it," the Genlock repeated.

" Wait a minute," Anders perked, and Nathaniel completed his thought.

" If you were able to cross the Veil and inhabit this Genlock body, why didn't you go back to your own?"

" I can't," the Genlock admitted, and its facial expression almost, _almost_ looked like a pout. " I can't see it, or feel it; whatever the Architect is doing, he definitely doesn't want my spirit reunited with my body."

" But if it was," Nathaniel urged, frowning purposefully into the Genlock's face.

" I don't know," the Genlock admitted. " Your priority should be to destroy it; your time is short and you cannot waste it on a fool's hope that I can return…"

The Genlock's grimy hand lifted to the side of Nathaniel's face and he did not recoil.

" … no matter how much you might want to."

" A fool's hope is better than no hope at all," he smiled sadly.

" If he kisses that Genlock my head will explode," Anders said and Oghren nodded.

" Right with you there."


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**Power play**

Traveling with a Genlock in the party was a surreal experience for everyone except Shale, who seemed to find Salana's situation intriguing.

" I told that one over there that It could not possibly be dead," Shale declared, motioning to Nathaniel when there was a lull in combat. " But it thought it knew It better than I."

" I appreciate your confidence Shale," the Genlock declared, and it might have been smiling if it wasn't so hideous. " But I am afraid that this is a temporary state of being."

" Why?" Shale perked. " If this body fails, can It not simply take a new one? Even if Its true body is destroyed It has shown It is capable of penetrating the Veil, which the one in the skirt says is quite difficult."

" It's a _robe_, not a skirt," Anders muttered.

" I will admit that I do not know enough about the Fade to answer that, and well, this is a rather unique situation. I think it would be best that we do not make any assumptions. I am glad to have had the chance to see you again."

" Strangely I find myself also experiencing a similar sentiment," Shale admitted. " Squishing darkspawn is somehow much more fulfilling with It around."

As they approached the next widening of the tunnel, the Genlock lifted its hand.

" Wait here while I scout ahead," it said, and jogged out of sight.

" We've been through some pretty strange things in this job," Oghren grunted. " But I think that this is the most bizarre."

" I don't know," Anders mused. " I think it was pretty surreal that time you managed to convince Velanna to show you her…"

" Shhh!" Nathaniel hissed, and when the party became quiet they were able to hear movement up ahead in a chamber that must have been quite large.

Moments later the Genlock returned.

" We must be getting close," it reported. " I just saw Utha at the bottom of the pit."

" The pit?"

" The next chamber is narrow but deep," the Genlock explained. " And it looks like conduits down the inside of the shaft are being used to channel liquidised lyrium from other parts of the Deep."

" Oh good, just when this was starting to get easy," Anders sniffed. " You know, these big evils are always so predictable," Anders noted. " When's the last time you thought to look for a malevolent mastermind in a cute little cottage with a picket fence?"

" I didn't see where the pipes lead, but with that much lyrium you can be sure where ever it converges…"

" We'll find the Architect," Nathaniel finished with a decisive nod, but the Genlock noted how labored his breathing had become.

" I'll move into the shaft to allow Shale and Oghren time enough to cause some serious damage to the plumbing," the Genlock declared. " Once you have their attention draw them back away from the lyrium so it won't harm Anders or Nathaniel."

They all nodded their understanding.

" Oghren will then come with me deeper into the lair, find my body and destroy it while Utha and the Architect's other defenders are busy out here."

" No," Nathaniel disagreed suddenly.

" We don't have time to hold a vote Nathaniel," the Genlock pointed out, striking an absurd posture with hands on hips. " Oghren has a natural resistance to the lyrium and you do not."

" I'm going with you," Nathaniel said stubbornly. " And this time you don't out rank me."

" Ugh! Men!" the Genlock huffed, throwing up its hands.

Anders cringed.

" It's like watching your parents fight."

" You sayin' my mother looked like a Genlock?" Oghren grunted.

" I'd say it's more likely that she looked like Commander Howe actually," Anders smirked.

" Why is it arguing against Its plan?" Shale muttered. " It has a sound strategy that minimises the chance of fatalities."

" How's he going to get the girl if the dwarf blows her up?" Anders pointed out.

" It isn't, but that still does not answer my question."

" Nathaniel you're being unreasonable… _again_," the Genlock groaned. " Look at you, you're sweating, and coughing; you're going to have to remove your armor to stay upright soon."

" I need to give you a chance," he growled, right into the Genlock's ugly face.

" I will take the chance if it presents itself, but not at the cost of _your _life," the Genlock hissed back. " The lyrium will kill you."

" You don't know that," Nathaniel insisted. " It doesn't affect the darkspawn, and if that is what is truly happening to us, then maybe my resistance has increased. Salana please."

Nathaniel took the Genlock's arm and pulled it closer.

" He's gonna do it," Oghren chortled, watching intently, but Anders began to retch again.

" I do not remember It ever tolerating backchat before," Shale muttered, and without further word began towards the chamber entrance.

" Commander ahh, Commanders?" Anders called, wiping the corners of his mouth.

" What?" Nathaniel barked.

" What?" the Genlock growled, both turning sharply.

Their explanation came with the sound of Hurlock snarls and crumbling rock.

" Ugh!" the Genlock huffed and rushed after Shale, who by the sounds of it was already doing what Shale did best.

" Draw them back!" Nathaniel barked as he passed Anders and Oghren. " I'm going with her!"

" Figured," Oghren dropped and followed.

One of the five lyrium ducts ruptured in an impressive spray of cerulean sparks, as Shale knocked the hulking body of an ogre right across the shaft. It did not seem to slow down the Disciples, but even at a distance Nathaniel could feel it increasing the weight of his body.

" Fight me," the Genlock hissed, giving him a shove. " And die."

Nathaniel didn't need any further explanation, and honestly didn't have to feign the fall he took when the Genlock's sword narrowly missed skewering him through the chest. The creature, apparently determined to finish him off, leapt down the stairs and at least appeared to be beating him about the head, while the rest of the darkspawn and Utha with them, followed Salana's plan and were drawn out of the chamber.

" Get up," the Genlock instructed, and Nathaniel complied, albeit struggling for balance. " You're not going to be able to wade through that," the Genlock pointed out when they reached the bottom of the stairs. " I'm going to have to carry you, get on my back."

" This is insane," Nathaniel hissed, fighting back dizziness.

" Maybe you'll listen to me next time," the Genlock muttered as Nathaniel folded his arms around its neck.

" Good," he swallowed as the creature stepped into the ankle deep lyrium syrup and began to follow the other pipes into a new tunnel. " At least you're acknowledging there will be a next time."

" This isn't my fate of choice you know," the Genlock huffed. " But if I can save you and the other Grey Wardens then that is what I'm going to do."

" And if I can save you that's what I'm going to…" he began, but his final word trailed away when they emerged from the tunnel onto a stone platform. " Maker's breath," he exhaled as the Genlock allowed him to slip form its back, and side by side they took in the monumental cavern in which they now stood.

Together they had seen great towers, great cities and great subterranean structures, but all of it paled in comparison. It was as if the Maker had reached down from the sky and slammed His fist right through the world, creating a mountain so high its peak could not be seen, and a hole so fathomless its true depth could not accurately be described let alone measured; and yet there they stood at the very bottom.

There could be no sunlight for there was no sun and yet somehow the world within the world was lit as if at dawn. Beyond their feet rushed fields of green, littered with healthy trees, reaching branches heavy with leaves. A bird swooped down from above, skimming the clear water of the lake not so far in the distance before climbing once more; it was not alone.

" This doesn't make any sense," the Genlock blinked, stunned, until covering his mouth as he coughed, Nathaniel stepped from the platform.

" Could the Architect be using the lyrium to power this… this… it's like a dream?"

" I hope there are no people down here," the Genlock hissed.

" Come on," Nathaniel urged. " As clever as he may be, the Architect has followed Anders' evil stereotype so far, so if your body is anywhere, it's at the centre."

As if walking beside a Genlock across a meadow at the bottom of the world was not bizarre enough, more signs of life emerged as they pressed on. Deer bounded from the forest to graze, rabbits ducked in and out of burrows and butterflies flitted about the landscape on a soft warm breeze, the origin of which Nathaniel could not determine.

" Even if the Architect is successful in creating a population of free thinking darkspawn," the Genlock said, scowling though it wasn't all that different to any other savage expression it made. " They will never be accepted by any existing kingdom, so maybe he's trying to create a new world for them here."

" With you and lyrium as its power source. What if he finds a way to spread the taint to non Grey Wardens on a mass scale?"

Nathaniel gaped as they broke from the colossal trees that could have been several hundreds of years old.

It was a spectacular building, reminiscent of ancient Dalish architecture. Sweeping arches were adorned with meticulously detailed scrollwork, and a female statue, all of which looked hauntingly like Salana, guarded each supporting column.

" That's more than a little creepy," the Genlock exhaled.

" It's like a shrine," Nathaniel frowned. " You're obviously integral to the Architect's plans by why all this?"

" Perhaps it is I who knows your beloved better than you?" the Architect answered from above, and when they cast their eyes upwards the creature had tilted its head and was peering at the Genlock from his position on an upper ledge. " Though, I know nothing of love, could it not be the true definition of that human emotion, to remain devoted even when one's companion is a creature as vile as that?"

" Where is she?" Nathaniel shouted, stabbing the air with his short sword.

" At the heart of everything," the Architect declared calmly. " As she will always be." Nathaniel did not wait for further banter, entering the temple though the Genlock lingered outside a moment longer.

Nathaniel threw himself against the temple steps, panting heavily, and the glare of lyrium forced him to shield his eyes as they adjusted. There were no darkspawn guarding her, no traps that he could see, and had he not known exactly where he stood, he might have convinced himself that this was exactly how the hero of Ferelden should be have been enshrined.

Though she had been dead nearly two months, she was just as Nathaniel remembered her. Though he knew it to be untrue she looked peaceful and calm, an expression that he would have had her wear under different circumstances. The conduits that fed into the cavern all met right there beneath where she was encased in sapphire crystal, an awesome obelisk of solid impenetrability. It pulsed around her, the energies that kept her from reuniting her will with her flesh.

" Even if you could destroy her," the Architect declared, appearing from the wings, sweeping like he didn't even touch the floor. " It is too late for _you_ now."

" Do it Nathaniel," the Genlock hissed, running in behind him.

" I regret the need for deception, and apologise," the Architect said, looking up at Salana's body, despite knowing that her awareness lay inside the Genlock. " But the world to which you would return does not hold the happiness that you seek. Here you are the centerpiece, the keystone, a goddess…"

The Genlock did not wait for the Architect to continue, but ran forward with axe in hand to strike against the pillar that enslaved her corporeal self; but nothing, the axe blade was broken from its iron handle and the obelisk remained unscathed.

" It is over," the Architect declared, and there was definitely a smile in his tone.

" No!" the Genlock snarled, and crouched to pounce at the other creature when the clatter of armor brought its focus back to Nathaniel who had fallen to hands and knees.

" It _is_ over," the Architect repeated, as the Genlock slid down beside Nathaniel and helped support some of his weight.

" I have failed you," the creature hissed, and with his eyes closed, Nathaniel could almost imagine that it was indeed Salana holding him up. " What is it worth Duncan if I fail them?" it screamed.

It was not, however, the Genlock's desperate outpouring of grief that caused the Architect's head to turn, but human shouts from outside the shrine.

" I will not forget," Nathaniel wheezed as the Genlock rolled him over onto its arm and lifted him up. " I will not forget all that I am, all that you are to me."

" Come on," the Genlock growled nudging him into motion, tears in its voice that its eyes were incapable of shedding.

" Where did all these mages come from?" Oghren grunted from outside the temple, that was now totally surrounded by Grey Wardens and Orlesian reinforcements.

" You're really going to look a gift-mage in the mouth now?" Anders swallowed, he, like all the others, having difficulty staying on his feet. " Or crotch really for you isn't it?"

At what point exactly Albain had decided to call for regular army support was unclear, but half way through fighting Utha the passage had gotten suddenly very crowded.

" Think she is gone?" Marceau asked quietly, wiping his sticky brow.

" No idea," Anders replied. " But even if she is, there is no way of knowing whether what we're experiencing will be reversed."

They were both so busy contemplating this that they missed the order to charge the shrine. One hundred or so soldiers armed to the teeth flooded the building, but they found therein only two figures, two figures that caused all but Nathaniel's party serious puzzlement.

" Kill it," Albain ordered with an heavy exhale.

" No!" Nathaniel barked, lurching out of the Genlock's arms, shakily lifting his sword. " It's not a darkspawn."

" The man is delirious," Arturu dropped and the archers fired, embedding enough arrows into the Genlock to fell an archdemon.

And fall it did.

Exhausted and distressed Nathaniel collapsed beside it, its contorted hand clutched in his, even as Salana's shadow left the confines of its body.

" Work your wards," Albain commanded, turning to the mages who circled the azure column that held Salana in silence, but the magic weavers faltered as the shadow coiled around it like a snake.

But could not penetrate it.

" You want us all to die?" Albain barked. " Ward her!"

Lying on his back, Nathaniel watched as Salana's shade abandoned her body and drifted upwards towards the ceiling of the shrine until it was lost from sight.

" _Is it really over?"_ he asked himself as his muscles spasmed painfully.

" Commander?" Oghren prompted, kneeling down beside him.

" Destroy her," Nathaniel whispered. " End it."

Shale was the first to turn, Oghren and Anders following, but what they found were swords and spears in their faces.

" Excuse me?" Oghren grunted.

" It appears that its allies are no longer its allies," Shale interpreted.

" Albain," Nathaniel croaked, but somehow, there was less pain in his bones. " What is the meaning of this?"

" You are all under arrest," the Orlesian Warden Commander declared, and he too stood a little straighter.

" I think it is making a very bad mistake," Shale dropped flatly, but Nathaniel put his hand against its massive fist.

" Arrest aside, Commander, you need to destroy Salana's body or all of the Grey Wardens are going to be turned into Disciples."

" I have assurances from my mages that they can disrupt the process that is infecting the Grey Wardens," Albain declared, a little more arrogance in his tone as his strength slowly began to return. " She will be returned to Val Royeaux for trial, though I doubt very much, given what we've seen and what we know, that it will be a very long one."

" What you _know_?" Anders spluttered. " That woman is a hero and…"

" That woman withheld information that threatened the citizens _and_ Grey Wardens of Orlais," Albain broke in. " And as I _see_ it here, is a large part in the Architect's plot to destroy the Grey Wardens."

" You think she did this willingly?" Nathaniel coughed out, the wheels turning inside his head. " Who issued this order?"

" The order comes from her Imperial Majesty herself," Albain answered. " Do not resist or you shall be executed forthwith."

" I rather think not," Shale declared.

" If you're going to execute her anyway, why take her back to Val Royeaux?" Oghren grunted.

" Because they want a spectacle," Nathaniel concluded, eying Albain, and confirmation appeared in the other man's eyes.

* * *

" I have a message from her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene I," the Orlesian man said, seeming more than a little bit jittery, and for good reason.

He stood before the king of Ferelden with news that he knew could very well end in _his_ very abrupt end.

" Go on," Alistair prompted, narrowing his eyes at the man.

The sickness that seemed to have affected all the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, he included, had begun to abate, and Alistair thought it could only have been the Architect's doing. What he was about to hear, however, was quite possibly the last thing he was expecting.

" Her Majesty Salana Cousland has been arrested on suspicion of crimes against the Empire of Orlais, and acting in collusion with the darkspawn Architect," the messenger blurted out, and clearly by the time he had finished he wished he was anywhere but there.

Alistair shifted slowly forward and stood from his seat upon the throne, his eyes fixed upon the man who had already begun to tremble. The king moved closer with slow, predatory steps, but said nothing until he stood less than an arm's length from the other man.

" My _wife_," he whispered, murder behind each syllable. " Is _dead_."

" N… No, your Majesty," the messenger stammered out. " Sh… She lives, and will be put to, to trial in Val Royeaux next month. If found guilty, she will be…"

The next word stuck in his throat.

" … beheaded."

Alistair's head tilted ever so slightly towards his right shoulder, and as the messenger's heart began to beat so loud it was audible, he was sure that the king was somehow reaching inside his chest with invisible fingers and preparing to crush it.

" First she is dead," Alistair stated. " And now she is alive, but Celene is going to behead her? Just, tell me if I have that right."

" Yes," the messenger squeaked.

" Yes _what_?"

" Your Majesty! Yes your Majesty!" the messenger shrieked.

Alistair swallowed. Almost every inch of him wanted to rip the gelatinous spine from the man cowering before him, but it was disbelief that stayed his hand. It had been Nathaniel, a Grey Warden, who had brought news of Salana's death to his ears, Nathaniel who had ridden with him to tell Salana's brother; would he lie? Could he have been wrong?

" Alive or dead, Salana Cousland would _never_, work with darkspawn, and given that she ended the last Blight before it barely touched Orlais, any sane person should conclude as much," Alistair declared. " You will return to Val Royeaux and tell her Majesty that the charges _will_ be dismissed immediately, and my _wife_ and her companions put on a ship for Highever post haste."

" I cannot do that your Majesty," the man very nearly wept. " Her Majesty was quite, quite explicit that there would be no leniency shown."

" Customarily," Alistair hissed. " One sends the head of the messenger back to the sender when they don't like the message."

The messenger closed his eyes.

" Sergeant," Alistair called, and one of the guards on standby stepped forward. " I want to know everything that this man knows. _Everything_. And should he be unco-operative, remind him that his head may be returning to Orlais without the rest of his body."

" Yes my Lord," the soldier nodded and took the messenger's arm to lead him away.

Alistair exhaled a long, slow breath. A part of him dared not entertain the thought that Salana was still alive, but the rest of him fumed at the idea that she was, and that the Orlesian Empress would dream of taking her from him again.

" _Not if I can save her."_


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**Answering duty**

_There was song in Leliana's mind, an epic ballad of evils overcome, love found and balance restored, but there was something niggling at the very edge of her dream that didn't seem entirely right._

_In her fine Orlesian shoes she walked slowly around the temple. Though already much work had been done to restore the massive structure that housed the Urn of Sacred Ashes, many areas were still unstable, iced over or filled with rubble. The Cultists had been driven out by Salana on her quest nearly a year ago, and the Chantry had been charged with regulating those who would gaze upon the remains of Andraste._

" _How strong is your faith?" a voice inquired, and Leliana looked up and over the Urn to the statue of the Maker's bride. Her lips had not moved and yet they still seemed the origin._

" _The vision you had, do you remember?" the voice continued, and this time the speaker became clear when Salana stepped out from behind the statue._

_Leliana smiled broadly._

" _Of course I remember," she declared brightly, but the expression did not last. " But, I heard that you are dead."_

" _I am," Salana nodded. " But that is why I am here."_

" _It seems to me that you still had so much to do," Leliana sighed. " The people were just beginning to believe in something again and now… Alistair was so sad when I saw him last."_

_Salana's jaw clenched; she wanted to ask more but didn't._

" _How strong is your faith?" she asked again instead. " In the vision you had?"_

_Leliana looked from Salana back up to the stature behind the Urn._

" _I have to test your faith now," Salana said. " I have a favor to ask."_

_

* * *

_

" Whatever that is," Nathaniel groaned, slowly opening his eyes to see the blurry image of Anders hovering above him. " Get it away from my face."

" Sorry Commander," Anders apologised, placing the shallow wooden bowl and healing poultice on the ground beside the cot. " You can thank the Templars for that."

He glowered at the heavily armored men outside the cell, but like stone they did not move.

Laboriously Nathaniel rolled onto his side and slowly sat up. The dungeon was filthy, as dungeons tended to be, and for a moment he thought perhaps he had dreamt the entire episode with the Architect and the Mother. Any moment Salana was going to come walking through the door on the other side of the room and conscript him to the Grey Wardens.

But it was not Salana who appeared.

" Isn't this just precious?" Anora mused, the intricate beading on her gown making soft chattering noises as she moved towards the bars of the cell.

" You have _got _to be kidding me," Anders dropped, his upper lip curling back into a sneer.

" Remember what I said about that Anora wench makin' a better choice for ruler?" Oghren grunted. " I take it back."

" Aww," she pouted, but her tone was sickly-sweet and patronising. " That might have actually been hurtful, if you weren't sitting in a moldy dungeon awaiting execution."

" Where's Salana?" Nathaniel demanded to know, getting to his feet, but he needed to be steadied by Anders; though from the look of the other two Wardens the darkspawn disease that had threatened to overcome them had been reversed, the effects of lyrium exposure still caused Nathaniel some discomfort.

" Oh the hero of Ferelden is having a lovely time, frozen in crystal surrounded by thirty mages making sure she stays right where she is, until Celene is ready to chop…" Anora gestured with one hand against the other in a cutting motion. " Her… head off."

Nathaniel grit his teeth and moved right up to the bars.

" So why wait? She's here now," he growled.

" Why?" Anora perked chirpily. " Well, we cannot have a _proper_ party until the guest of honor arrives can we? Honestly Nathaniel, you really do lack your father's political insights."

" The king," he exhaled, shaking his head as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

" I bet Salana thought that allowing the Architect to live was a bad decision," Anora chuckled. " But sending me here?"

The woman's eyes narrowed and the innocent façade she had been crafting fell away to reveal something truly devious, truly malicious.

" _That_ was her greatest and final mistake."

Triumphantly she watched it dawn upon Nathaniel, a swift sunrise over imminent defeat.

" Your father fought to free Ferelden from Orlesian occupation, and you're going to hand Celene the keys to the kingdom?" Nathaniel charged. " You think she has a place for you in that?"

" I _know_ she does," Anora smirked, placing her hands on the round of her belly. " Because I hold the means to prevent Ferelden from rising up to defend its borders; the last, of the Therin bloodline."

" But the king is…" Anders began, but Nathaniel held up his hand and he stopped.

" There was no way I could have gotten to Alistair from here," Anora mused. " Getting sympathisers lingering in Denerim to drop a little something in the king's mug to make him more compliant _while_ I was there, well that was one thing," she went on. " But I doubt they held much hope I would ever return from this, and I could never have gotten Alistair to step foot in Orlais, he wouldn't risk an international incident. Having Salana declared dead, however, was perfection that not even I could have constructed," she laughed, and turned back to the cell to share her glee in its most extreme. " You destroyed him so thoroughly, that the seed of hope planted in his mind now, and the idea that we will kill the love he thought he had lost forever, has overrun his sense of duty to Ferelden."

Nathaniel's mouth slowly opened, but he did not know what to say.

" He sails here even now to save her," Anora declared with smug satisfaction. " And when he and his hero are both dead, Celene will appoint me Steward of Ferelden, and the people will follow because I will hold the former king's child in my arms."

" So all that talk about wanting what was best for Ferelden was rubbish?" Nathaniel spat, clutching the bars like he could bend them with his rage.

" As I told _her_," Anora sniffed. " Our versions of what is best for Ferelden differs. You see loyalty to a fool king raised and sheltered by the Chanty as best for Ferelden, whereas I see governance being overseen by someone finely schooled in the business of ruling a kingdom, as what is best."

Brazenly she stepped forward and laid her hands against Nathaniel's fingers.

" And the resolution of that conflict comes to whoever has the most power," she declared serenely, even as Nathaniel did what she had expected him to; he snatched her wrists, and the Templars drew their swords, and the Orlesian soldiers beyond them readied arrows.

Anora did not seem the slightest bit fazed.

" Who has the power now, Nathaniel Howe?" she whispered, as sword points were leveled at Nathaniel's chest. " And where is your precious hero to save you?"

It was the groan of bow-stings that made Nathaniel release Anora, but she was in no hurry to step back.

" Enjoy your stay," she smiled whimsically. " For when Alistair arrives, you will follow he and his queen to the grave… and stay there."

* * *

Talk was sparse between members of the party that had delved into the Deep Roads, but it was not tension between individuals within the company that stifled flippant conversation. Purpose drove haste in their steps, urgency snapping at their heals viciously; they had fear but it was not brought about by the potential nasties lurking in the darkness.

" Is this your first time in the Deep?" Sigrun asked Fergus, and the man looked down at the dwarf. His brow had not smoothed from a scowl since the king's command had reached Highever, command and news that there was yet still a chance to save Salana.

" Yes," he answered shortly, but it was not for anything she had done.

Sigrun understood. She wished that she had been with Salana in Orlais to face the Architect; like all the Wardens of Ferelden, the queen had touched her life and left her changed forever.

She felt sorry for Fergus, who had lost his mother and father while out preparing for war against the Blight. There _should_ have been more certainty in his life with the archdemon destroyed and his sister beside the king, but Sigrun had had a feeling that the woman was not yet done with her adventures.

Salana had become the pivotal point for too many, for her story to just end vaguely in old age and obscurity.

" I'll get us through," Sigrun assured him. " There are a whole lot fewer darkspawn down here than the last time."

" Darkspawn may not be our greatest adversaries," Wynne said, the elder mage looking back over her shoulder.

When Alistair had passed his orders on to her, her first reaction had been to denounce such a rash course of action. She understood, however, the bond that he had with his wife, and the guilt that he felt over his betrayal. She, like everyone else, had wondered how such a thing had come about, but could not have asked him any more than Salana had been able to.

All of them now suspected treachery. There was only one reason that Celene would have sent the messenger with the news that he had delivered, and it was not out of courtesy; the empress wanted Alistair in Orlais. Like too many people however, Celene underestimated Alistair. His ships had left Highever, his troops on full military alert, indeed it seemed that he sailed to war all for the sake of a single woman.

Wynne might have advised Alistair against such madness had she thought it would have made any difference. She did not regret the advice she had given the budding hero of Ferelden about her blossoming relationship with the throne's heir, but had been happy for she and Alistair when it seemed like they had found a working balance. There had been no doubt in her mind that when it came down to it, the pair would have put their duties before their love, but now… now Alistair had something to prove; he loved Salana so much, that he would risk his throne, his life and his entire kingdom if only to redeem himself in her eyes.

It sounded like folly, looked like folly, and could very well draw Ferelden into a war it was not able to win. Despite enthusiastic rebuilding efforts, the kingdom that had borne the brunt of the last Blight would not be any match against a fully rested and armed Orlais; yet there they were in the Deep, trudging through the shadows and the perils that laid therein so that they would eventually exit in Orlais.

The king was not going to just give Ferelden to Orlais.

He was going to save his wife and protect his kingdom, for he had duty to them_ both_.

Despite the odds against them, Wynne felt compelled to carry out Alistair's orders; not out of blind loyalty though she trusted his rule, but because of some inexplicable feeling that drew her toward Val Royeaux. There was a calling that ran far deeper than consciousness, tugging her to some end, and she was not the only one to feel it.

Salana and Alistair had rescued all the mages that Irving had sent from the Circle to accompany them. Had they not intervened, Knight-Commander Greagoir would have used the Rite of Annulment to kill everything within Kinloch Hold when it had been overrun by Uldred and the abominations.

Now they would give their lives for the chance to return the favor.

" It will be difficult to disguise this many mages travelling together when we reach the other side," Fergus noted when he caught Wynne peering at him.

" Perhaps," she nodded. " However, I should think that having all but invited Ferelden to bring its armies to her shores, the majority of Celene's forces will be located in and around Val Royeaux, not scouring the countryside for us."

" I am honestly not sure what to make of all this," he admitted, rubbing a calloused hand over his stubble-shadowed chin.

" Of what, exactly?" Wynne prompted gently.

" Salana," he began, but it was obvious that speaking her name brought the man discomfort. " She was never one to sit about embroidering cushions, nor my mother for that matter," he noted. " And I can see, _anyone_ without half their sanity can see, that she was… ah… _is_ a leader of great talent. We all owe her for ending the Blight, she _is_ responsible for protecting Ferelden from the darkspawn as Warden Commander but…"

He frowned; he was a soldier and struggled for the words to describe what lay beneath his armor.

" … she is my sister, first and foremost," he went on, clenching his jaw. " And it just seems like she is at the very center of all this evil, again. Why her? Why can't she just be happy? Safe? That's all I want for her."

Wynne smiled a sad, whimsical smile as she answered.

" Your sister understands the nature of power. If all who could act, stayed idle in order to serve only themselves, then they would not be serving themselves for very long. Someone in her position could very well have chosen to remain in lavish comfort, decorated and waited upon; it was within her power to decide that for herself. But there is something in the heart, and in the soul of those rare people such as she, that allows them to see that if they do not continue to fight for those who cannot fight themselves, then not only she, but everyone will be denied the chance to feel that safety that you so desperately desire for her."

" I suppose I already knew that," Fergus sighed. " It just doesn't seem fair that all that should rest upon the shoulders of one person, and I cannot help but feel that this, all of it sounds just like… it's ridiculous though isn't it? To think that?"

" Is it?" Wynne perked, knowing what Fergus meant to say, even though he did not quite finish all of his sentences. " I do not believe in all that the Chantry preaches," she continued. " The way that words can be twisted to control the people, using faith to foster fear, rather than make burdens lighter, does not sit well in my mind. But, I have seen enough in my life to convince me, that there _are_ some things that cannot be explained by logic, things that one _must_ take on faith as belonging to something greater than all of us."

Fergus nodded slowly.

" But Salana is not as alone as she seems," Wynne declared, her smile bringing warmth to the cold. " We share this burden with her, so long as we live as she lives, and she would not leave a good person to die."

* * *

There was little to celebrate in the returning of Nathaniel's health. Trapped in a cell just helplessly waiting for death was maddening. Without light it was difficult to tell how many days and nights had passed but it felt like an eternity.

In his dreams he searched for her, thought that if he focused enough that he could draw her from the Fade, but he woke empty and unfulfilled every time. There was no way for any of them to know what had happened to her shade after the Genlock was killed, but they had all seen that it had not been able to penetrate the crystal that held her body captive.

Had she found another corpse to inhabit?

If she had, where was it now?

If she hadn't, what then?

How long could her shade remain without her body?

" Ugh, this food is terrible," Oghren huffed, pushing away the wooden bowl of goop they had been served. " I've scraped tastier morsels from the sole of my boot after waking through dragon guts."

" Well," Anders said, swallowing a mouthful of whatever was in _his_ bowl. " Hmm, if I die from eating this then I give you permission to eat my body."

Oghren leveled his gaze at the mage.

" I've scraped tastier morsels from the…"

" Fine," Anders sighed, continuing to force himself to ingest what little food they were given.

" I'd have thought Shale would have busted us out of here by now," Oghren grunted, getting to his feet and scooping up his bowl. " Wonder what happened to her."

" Serving canapés in the palace I should expect," Anders responded flippantly, but he eyed the dwarf as he drew closer to him. " Wait, what are you going to do with that?"

" I'm going to show my appreciation," Oghren declared, and then splashed the contents of the bowl all over the nearest Templar.

" Oh great," Anders dropped, getting quickly to his feet, Nathaniel following suit.

" I'm sick of waitin'. I'm going to die of boredom before they get around to cutting us up."

Clearly the Templar was angry as the foul tasting, soupy goo trickled in behind his breastplate, and he gripped the hilt of his sword. He did not draw it, however, for there was no point.

" Come on you overdressed, nughuggin' Orlesian twat," Oghren taunted, but the Templar did not rise in anger; if anything the man seemed less sturdy on his feet.

His compatriot and the regular soldiers at the entrance to the dungeon all looked around as if a fog had settled, but no manner of hand swiping or blinking was able to clear it.

Oghren looked to Anders.

" It's not me," the mage declared, even as their captors began to drop, until in stunned silence the Ferelden trio looked out through the bars at a dungeon full of unconscious Orlesians.

" Potent stuff that gruel," Oghren noted, but the real explanation as to what had just happened appeared a moment later.

" Marceau?" Anders blurted when the Orlesian Grey Warden came quickly down the stairs, and picked his way across the body-littered floor to the gate of their cell.

" There are some still who believe we owe the Blight ender more than this," Marceau declared, putting the key to their cell in the lock and pulling open the door. " And some who believe that the mission of the Grey Wardens is not served by war among the people of Thedas."

" What you're doing is treason," Nathaniel pointed out evenly, both acknowledging the sacrifice the man was making and ensuring that he knew exactly what the consequences would be.

" To my empress perhaps," Marceau nodded, encouraging them with urgent hand gestures to take from the sleeping soldiers what they could. " But not to a greater purpose. Your king approaches Val Royeaux," he went on. " His ships are nearly upon Val Chevin, but our army has not mobilised to meet him."

" Celene cannot be sure to kill him in the chaos of a massive battle," Nathaniel noted. " She _wants_ him to enter the capital and thanks to Anora, she knows he will separate himself from his troops if it is the only way to get to Salana."

" That crazy empress is going to let a foreign army march right up to the gates of her city?" Oghren chortled quietly as they made their way up the dungeon stairs, passed another couple of unconscious Orlesian soldiers.

" No doubt she thinks that with Salana and Alistair dead, and Anora revealed as the mother of the only surviving Therin, the military will back down," Nathaniel shook his head.

" Am I the only one who remembers that the Architect is still on the loose?" Anders piped up. " And, really, I can't be the only one who thinks that taking the Commander from him in his own environment was a little bit too easy?"

" Right, so it's save the queen and the king, defeat the Architect and his intelligent Grey Warden darkspawn and escape from a hostile kingdom?" Oghren summarised. " What, no archdemon?"

" We will use the tunnels to escape the city," Marceau explained, leading them through winding passages wherein they came across the occasional slumbering guard.

" Did you drug the entire garrison?" Anders inquired.

" Yes," the Orlesian confirmed, his voice totally serious.

" I hope the Architect doesn't attack now then," the mage mused. " Or, maybe I do?"

" Can we leave him behind Commander?" Oghren sniffed, but Nathaniel didn't respond to that.

" You're coming with us?" he asked Marceau instead.

" If you will have me," he nodded. " I have spent enough time with you to see honor, and dishonor in what my countrymen would do to you for the sake of power."

" Then you're most welcome," Nathaniel smiled thinly. " Where is Shale?"

" The golem I could not reach," Marceau frowned. " It was entrusted to a group of mages."

" Oh she's gonna love that," Oghren grunted.

" And Salana?"

Marceau shook his head.

" The Circle have been working tirelessly in concert to prevent the taint within her from turning us all, and those mages are heavily guarded," he explained, pushing open what appeared upon first glance to be a solid stone wall. " I am sorry Commander, but I cannot help you rescue her."

" We _will_ be coming back,"Nathaniel impressed.

Marceau just nodded, and took them into the tunnels.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**The final pieces**

Alistair ignored the salt spray that was drying on his cheeks and continued to glare at the distant spires of Val Royeaux. His generals watched him, his lieutenants watched him, all the soldiers on his ship watched him, and what they saw was a man determined. They did not think him mad, they did not think him rash, for though they sailed to an enemy port with far less numbers than it would take to defeat the Orlesians on their home soil, this was not just a frontal assault; this was not just a quest for power.

This quest had meaning that they all understood.

" Should you not rest your Majesty?" Leliana inquired softly, moving in beside him at the bow. " There will be little chance for that when we dock."

" I will rest when Salana is freed and back in Ferelden where she belongs," Alistair declared staunchly, but Leliana heard, 'when Salana is freed and back in my arms'.

" She will be," the Orlesian native nodded, smiling that easy smile. " As we sail to her aid, thousands back home pray for our success."

" Prayer without action doesn't help anyone," Alistair said, allowing himself to be distracted.

" But her Majesty inspires people to act," Leliana pointed out. " Like me. I thought that my mission was over but, like she, there is still more to be done."

" I feel like I abandoned my mission with her," Alistair sighed, the first sign of emotion emerging since they had left Highever. " Like I turned my back, and I have asked myself a thousand times how it happened, but never find an answer. I will fight until there is nothing left in me to prevent Celene from executing Salana, but I still doubt I can ever truly be absolved, no matter how repentant I may be."

" There are two types of apology, your Majesty," Leliana said. " There is the forgiveness you ask for, because the weight of your guilt is heavy and you desire relief, and there is the apology one gives when they wish peace for the one who has been wronged. She knows the difference, it will not be lost on her."

Leliana did not doubt that Alistair's apology was of the latter variety, which indeed made the event that seemed to have sparked it all, an incredible mystery.

" It's strange," he mused, looking back towards the approaching city. " I thought more people should hate me for what I've done."

At this Leliana chuckled.

" You may have done what you did Alistair," she told him, dropping formality and giving him a familiar pat on the arm. " But those who know you, know that you did not do so of your own free will."

Alistair cringed.

" No, I quite vividly remember doing what I did and choosing to do it," he disagreed grouchily. " No matter how much I wish I couldn't. So unless I dreamt it all up, which we know I didn't, and I remember doing it because I wanted to, even though I would never have wanted to, I must have done what I did because I wanted to… ugh that just sounds so… stupid."

" Even if that is true, you should have faith in Salana's ability to forgive," Leliana told him; but she had not told him about her dream. " She has not given up, she knows that she can't, and so you must also be strong now."

* * *

When it was brought to Anora's attention that the Ferelden captives had escaped, she was furious. She spared the guards no measure of her wrath, though they cared little for what she had to say. They knew that their empress kept the woman only for the cargo she carried, and that she was just as likely to be executed when the child was born.

The Orlesians looked at her with barely veiled contempt as she waddled around the palace in her finery; a far cry from the plain and practical attire she had been forced to wear while at the Grey Warden barracks. She acted like a queen but they all knew she was nothing more than a poor imitation of the greatness that they were going to destroy when the Ferelden king arrived.

Anora wasn't stupid.

She knew exactly what they thought.

She knew exactly what was going to happen after Alistair was killed.

Why was everyone so surprised that Alistair had slept with her? Why was everyone so surprised that one little mistake had resulted in pregnancy? Her mind boggled that people still underestimated her, and that they thought that support for her and her late father would just disappear because Alistair was Maric's son. Did they not know how dangerous a well-trained herbalist could be? Did they not know that the same skills used to create a potion able to heal grave wounds and restore stamina, could be used to ensnare the senses and confuse the mind?

Really, she wondered if people walked around with their eyes closed.

It made Anora laugh that Salana might actually have entertained the idea that it had been just that easy to convince Alistair to fall, that words alone had been enough. Of course she hadn't gotten a full explanation from her king because the man himself was convinced he was guilty. It had taken weeks to build up enough of the drug in his system to finally break through; in all honesty there had been a point when she thought he would overdose and lapse into a coma before submitting.

The familiar woman who passed Anora in the corridor smiled and inclined her head, but Anora afforded her but fleeting acknowledgement. There were others like her now, just waiting in the wings, for Anora did not expect Celene's plan to go off without a hitch; contingencies had to be planned for, any _true_ strategist knew that.

* * *

Escaping the city, even in the tunnels was a lot more difficult than just following Marceau's lead. Despite the fact that they had been locked up and scheduled for execution, Nathaniel wanted to avoid killing Orlesians where possible; the soldiers were merely following the misguided orders of their devious superiors.

This aside, by the time they reached the port, Ferelden's ships were nearly within shouting distance. There were no cannons firing, no archers lining the shore though Celene could have sunk most of Alistair's fleet before they could disembark.

Alistair's ship, however, was approaching port and there was not a single Orlesian soldier in sight.

" We have to get the king off his ship and arrange discuss strategy," Nathaniel declared, taking the bow from his back.

" You're going to shoot him?" Anders perked.

" I'm going to let him know we're here," Nathaniel clarified, as he tore away a small part of his tunic that included the Grey Warden insignia and fixed it to an arrow.

" Think you can hit it from here?" Oghren smirked.

" Right through the heart if I had to," Nathaniel nodded as he narrowed his vision to the glint off Alistair's armor; if he had wanted to kill the king of Ferelden, then in that moment he had his chance.

Both Oghren and Anders held their breath, for they knew now that the death of the king might afford Nathaniel a better chance for happiness with Salana, should they of course be successful in their rescue bid.

The message-laden arrow exploded forth from the bowstring and left obscurity, sailing above the glittering water until it slammed into the mast beside which Alistair stood.

* * *

" A report from Weisshaupt indicates that around thirty-five Grey Wardens from Anderfels and perhaps as many as twenty from the Free Marches were turned before Salana was warded by our mages, your Majesty," Albain reported, standing before Celene. " They have since deserted, presumably to join the Architect."

" Presumably?" Celene mused, but there was a dissatisfied edge to her tone.

" The darkspawn have disappeared completely," he went on. " Though we have searched, we have no way of knowing where they are holding up now that we've secured the Architect's shrine."

" We have its favourite toy," Celene pointed out. " We don't need to know where they are, because we know where they will be."

" The army has taken position around the city my empress," Chevalier-General Francois declared. " Neither the darkspawn or the army of Ferelden shall penetrate our perimeter, though citizens from all over the kingdom are still flocking to the capital to witness your masterstroke."

" And the tunnels?" Celene prompted.

" Under constant monitor," Albain assured.

" We need to ensure that security is tight, but not so tight that the king is unable to enter," the empress nodded, and turned her head but a fraction to the left as Anora passed into view.

" Do not doubt now," Anora smiled, reading the question in Celene's eyes. " You cannot possibly fathom how dearly Alistair wants his wife back."

" He survived the Blight fighting beside her," Celene said. " You do not think that your over developed sense of superiority leads you to underestimate him?"

Anora had been poised to answer when another soldier entered the throne room to speak quietly with Francois.

" Your Majesty. The king of Ferelden has been sighted riding with his army towards the southern gates."

" Perhaps you give him too much credit?" Anora smirked.

" If we get a clear shot…?" Francois perked.

" No," Celene interrupted. " I want no mistakes. I will see him dead myself; there is far too much uncertainty in the permanency of death these days for my liking."

Of course she referred to Salana, who despite Albain's report, had apparently turned out to not be entirely dead at all.

" Ferelden will not acknowledge the right of the bastard child of the much loved bastard king and his most bitter political rival, while there is hope in their hearts that he lives," Celene went on, just to make sure that they understood. " If he calls for entrance to the city, then allow it. Take him into custody and bring him to me."

Anora turned slowly and exited the throne room. Celene had expected Alistair to leave his army in the hands of his generals and attempt to infiltrate the city via the tunnels. His brazen approach was, in Anora's opinion, not of his own design, and not nearly as fool-hardy as it at first appeared. It might have looked as if he intended to storm Val Royeaux with all of his might, but all that meant was that another force was approaching from somewhere else, maybe the subterranean tunnels and maybe not.

If Nathaniel had made it to the port, then there was no doubt he had given Ferelden forces a reasonable picture of what would occur when Alistair was captured, assuming of course that the Warden Marceau had not been a triple turncoat sent to lead them to their deaths.

" _And I wonder,"_ Anora thought, as she left the palace. _" If Howe will tell Alistair the truth about his infidelity."_

Alistair would be no less fervent in his attempts to rescue Salana if not, but if he was made aware that despite his memory of events, that his will had been subverted, then his efforts would be all the more ardent.

It didn't matter to Anora in the slightest.

While the Orlesians waited for the Ferelden pieces of their plan to fall into place, she had other things to do.

" You are not permitted to enter here," the Templar declared, barring her way through the thick double doors.

" I think that you shall find I am," Anora said slowly, without anger. " The magi attempting to control the golem, lack the implicit knowledge of its creation gathered by _my_ people."

" _Your_ people have exiled you," the Templar pointed out, still with no emotion.

" Be that as it may," Anora exhaled slowly, smoothing both hands over her rounded belly. " I know the dwarves have refused to aid you in determining its construction, _and_ in how to re-establish dominance over it, and _I_ am offering my assistance. I should think that with the fate of the city at stake, you should want to capitalise on all available resources," she went on. " And I am sure that a loyal golem would be quite useful."

The Templar continued to hesitate and Anora chuckled.

" Goodness, are you really so terribly frightened of me? A single, pregnant woman in a foreign land?"

Of course, Templars weren't afraid of anything, and the door opened enough to allow her entry.

The Templar instructed his compatriot within to escort her, and to ensure that she did not interfere with the work of the mages; the other man nodded.

Anora just continued to smile, because this man, already belonged to her.

* * *

Leliana spoke quietly about what she had been doing at the Temple of Andraste as they made their way through the tunnels back towards Val Royeaux. No one complained, they just allowed her to fill the heavy silence, even though they were all really preoccupied with their own thoughts.

No one looked at Nathaniel, beside whom the Orlesian woman walked, for his thoughts were perhaps the most cumbersome.

Alistair had received the vague message that the Warden Commander had sent, and disembarked separate to the rest of his force, meeting them in relatively concealment. The king had looked to Nathaniel for confirmation that what the Orlesian messenger had said was true. Oghren and Anders watched on without saying a word, wondering if Nathaniel would give Alistair that last piece of information that would free the other man from his guilt; they owed loyalty to both men, but would repeat nothing of what Anora had revealed unless directly questioned.

Nathaniel made it look effortless, and though Oghren had given him constant grief about his affections for Salana, he knew it must have been eating him inside.

" My Lord," Nathaniel had said, following his comprehensive run down of the situation within Val Royeaux. " Though I think we have learned enough to know that she is not one to be taken at her word, Anora revealed certain details of her ploy to regain her freedom and power at your expense."

Anders listened though tried to appear as if he wasn't; it was all nearly too painful. If people never changed, Anora would always be duplicitous, but that also meant that Nathaniel would still have been that bitter, vengeful man that Salana had spared death so long ago now.

He was not, clearly, or he would have held his tongue.

Alistair had scowled, for he thought he knew all there was to know about his crimes. Leliana had narrowed her eyes, looking back and forth between the two men as she tried to comprehend what was being said, and what was not.

" Despite the public denouncement of her father, and her own imprisonment," Nathaniel had declared. " She revealed that a group of individuals still loyal to the Mac Tir's, helped her poison your senses, enough so that you were rendered incapable of resisting her advances, and yet still think yourself in control of your own decisions."

Oghren's head actually drooped a little, while Anders' lifted with pride. Putting aside the fact that Salana was still in the hands of the Orlesians and the Architect had yet to truly reveal his full hand, the fact that Alistair believed he was responsible for betraying his wife was actually the most potent reason that they might never reconcile.

But Nathaniel had promised.

Anything for her, even forsaking his own desire.

As Leliana shifted the weight of the large, awkward pack she carried, Nathaniel recalled the look on the king's face. He would never forget that expression, for it reflected the exact opposite of the face he covered with his own mask of duty.

Like a child told he would eat nothing but candy for the rest of his life, Alistair had practically glowed, and Nathaniel had just stood there, bathing in it, while his flame dwindled.

" I have missed something I see," Leliana said, drawing Nathaniel back to the present moment.

" You're not the only one," Nathaniel replied, looking at her burden. " Are you sure you don't want Oghren to carry that for you?"

" This is _my_ weight to bear," she smiled gently. " Yours, I think, is much heavier."

" So what _is _in the pack?" Anders inquired. " It's not one of Dworkin's bombs is it? Something that size is likely to sink Val Royeaux into the Waking Sea."

" It is not a bomb, no," Leliana laughed. " What I bring with me is support of the spiritual kind and…" She eyed Nathaniel. " A fresh ear. A fresh perspective?"

" Not necessary," he smiled, a thin, forced smile that turned into a grimace as he was thrown suddenly forward against the tunnel floor.

" _Maybe you should talk to Leliana," Salana said, and when Nathaniel looked up she was indeed standing in front of him. " I'm sorry Nathaniel, but this is not going to get any easier."_

" _You're still here," he exhaled in relief, scrambling back to his feet. Though he moved, though Salana moved, the shimmering image of those not caught within the vision that Salana had somehow conjured, was stagnant._

" _For now," she nodded. " But you need to know, that during the penultimate moments of this campaign, your mission to deprive the Architect of my body, will come to a close. I need you to do as Leliana asks."_

" _Why you?" he scowled vehemently, taking this opportunity to grasp her shoulders, for even if it was not entirely real, it was probably the only chance he would ever have to touch her again. " Why is it you who must suffer for everyone else?"_

" _I asked myself the same thing," she told him, not pulling away, and it felt to Nathaniel as if she actually relaxed. " More than once actually," she went on. " But I realised eventually that I already knew the answer."_

_He searched her face for that answer, but as her expression softened, as she drifted into his eyes, he realised that he knew as well._

" _Because you care, and because you can," he said darkly. " But some people don't deserve to be saved, not by you, not at the cost of your blood."_

" _It's not for me to pick and choose," she told him gently. " Just to hope that my example will touch them in a way that will make them want to change."_

" _I…" he began._

" _I know," she smiled, touching his cheek lightly, but he caught her wrist and frowned._

" _No, let me finished," he snapped. " If this is the last time I speak to you, I want you to hear it."_

_There was the pain of knowing that she had to leave everything she cared for behind._

_There was the pain of feeling betrayed, the pain of being alone on the very brink…_

… _and then there was looking into his eyes._

" _You are the queen of Ferelden," he began staunchly, standing tall and releasing her wrist in favour of taking her face between his hands. " You are the wife of another man, a good man who, despite his faults, really does deserve you… but…"_

_He leaned forward, their foreheads touching, chins tilted down a little._

" … _but you made me want to be the kind of man who deserves you too," he continued breathily, admissions that could never have been spoken out loud to the waking world. " And despite myself, and the bad blood between our family's on account of my father, I'd like to think that I am that man now."_

_Salana closed her eyes and exhaled a shaky breath._

" _You are," she acknowledged softly, their heads turning slightly, cheeks nudging closer. " And in another life, I would have tried to make you happy, instead of burdening you with this sadness."_

_It was as close to 'I love you' as he was ever going to hear from her, this he knew._

" _Whatever happens," she went on, palm warm against his chest, his heart pounding beneath it. " Remember, that just because we are bound by duty to other things, does not mean we have not wished the world could give us _all_ that we have dreamt of."_

_She pushed back slowly and did not attempt to hide her tears. Death took her from both Alistair and Nathaniel, and even though in life she could not have had them both, it still seemed unfair that they would love her so much, and she could give so little in return._

" _Trust Leliana," she swallowed, stepping back again, though she wanted only to comfort him. " And believe this is not all for nothing."_

When Nathaniel blinked next he was staring at the ground. Between his hands, flat against the ground, dark spots betrayed him long before his sob could echo in the dimness.

Anders and Oghren just looked on as Leliana crouched beside him, laying a gentle hand against his back. Somehow, she seemed to know at least some of what he had seen.

" The best we can do for her now, is carry on," she told him quietly.

* * *

Alistair sat tall in the saddle, as close the southern gates of Val Royeaux as he and his army could get, without forcing violence with the Orlesian army stationed between them and the capital. He would not send a messenger as Celene had; he now knew that he had more integrity than that.

Nathaniel's news of his innocence filled him with a joy that would be second only to having Salana in his arms once more; he did not know if he could convince her it was true, but decided in the end that if she loved him half as much as he loved her, then she would jump at the chance to believe.

He had not been blind to the steel in Nathaniel's eyes as he gave his report, the way the man stood, spine straight, legs apart; the Warden Commander was a man expecting the world to cut him down the moment those words were from his lips. Alistair had known, almost from his first meeting with Salana at Ostagar, that she would always be a part of him, a part that he could not live without, and as Nathaniel gave his king evidence to clear his name, he saw that the other man had discovered he felt the same.

The Howes had earned the ire of Alistair and Salana both, but not that man; he was as loyal as men could be. He have given back to Alistair what he could very well have kept for himself, something that Alistair himself would not let go.

" Withdraw your armies Ferelden king!" came a call from a small mounted contingent approaching Alistair's position. " You have no business marching upon Val Royeaux."

Alistair narrowed his eyes on the speaker for whom he had no name, while those within the king's guard tensed.

" Gladly," Alistair replied and managed to sound flippant. " As soon as you release my wife and all Ferelden prisoners you have wrongly incarcerated."

" Salana Cousland will answer for the crimes of which she has been found guilty," the lead rider in the Orlesian party declared, coming to stop well within arrow's reach. " Collusion with the darkspawn, resulting in the deaths of Orlesians both Grey Warden and not, is and will be, punishable by death."

" If you kill my wife," Alistair growled, nudging his horse forward a little. " There won't be any Orlesians left in your precious city to charge me with crimes against Orlais."

Even Ser Jerome at Alistair's right shoulder blinked at that statement, and the Orlesians seemed equally as surprised that the foreign king would make so outwardly hostile a claim; of course, they were not privy to the inside details behind Celene's decision to execute Salana.

" Get Celene out here now," Alistair continued in the uneasy silence. " Or you and your compatriots will be counted among the first to fall."

" The Empress does not answer to you, Alistair king," the rider declared, though his eyes travelled to the archers beyond Alistair's group. " But I _have_ been authorised to allow a single diplomatic agent to enter Val Royeaux, to negotiate the stand down of your forces."

" Diplomacy," Alistair snorted as his horse stepped forward once more, putting clear distance between he and his entourage. " Not my strongest point, but that's the beauty of having an angry army ready to slash and burn everything in a vengeful rage isn't it?"

The rider blinked again; the statement simply didn't match the light-handed way in which the man delivered it.

Alistair's generals did not question his decision, because they had already known this was how the king's entrance was going to play out. They would, should it come down to it, besiege the city; Alistair had been quite clear about making the Orlesians pay should Salana actually be murdered, and in all honesty they felt the same.

War was a terrible thing, but there was one thing for which they all would risk it.

_Her._


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**Faith**

Not surprisingly, the moment that Alistair entered Val Royeaux, he was disarmed and dragged before Celene. Still, he walked like a man who was sure of his decisions, not the man he had been, burdened by guilt. Captive or not, Alistair came to stand before the Empress of Orlais with his chin held high and a good measure of contempt sparkling in his eyes.

" So, your understanding of diplomacy is worse than mine?" Alistair perked as he was given one last shove to the foot of the of the dais, Warden Commander Albain and General Francois, one either side of the empress. " Hmm, I see the Grey Warden oath doesn't mean all that much here in Orlais."

" If you have come here to beg for the life of your wife King of…" Celene began, but Alistair rudely interrupted.

" Beg?" he chortled, somehow appearing like he was in complete control of the situation, despite the guards around him. " Actually I was going to give you one last chance to reconsider the lunacy of antagonising relations with Ferelden on Anora's say so."

He leaned forward a little to imitate the motions of a conspiratorial whisper, holding up one heavily armored hand as if to shield his words.

" She's not exactly known for her honesty," he hissed, loud enough for all within the chamber to hear.

Celene did not look impressed by Alistair's theatricality in the slightest, but maintained her composure.

" I should think, given the situation, you would be more concerned about yourself," she pointed out, and Alistair leaned back.

" Oh you mean the whole, kill me as well and claim control of Ferelden through my heir?" Alistair mused. " Right, right… where is my heir right now exactly, do you know?"

" Oh Alistair," Anora exhaled loudly, stepping into view to the far left of Celene's throne. " I suppose you actually thought you had all of this figured out, that you'd just, waltz in here and convince Celene of my duplicitous heart and that she would turn on me?"

" Don't be ridiculous," Alistair snorted airily, even though the very sight of the woman made him feel sick. " You don't have a heart. The duplicitous part, wait, is there such a thing as triplicitous? Seriously Celene, she's going to stab you in the back, and probably other places, which…"

Alistair rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if in deep contemplation.

"… actually doesn't sound that bad."

That earned him a solid crack against the shoulder blades, a blow that caused him to stumble forward against the dais, just out of reach of Celene's toes. Albain and Francois both shifted their weight and placed their hands on their weapons, though Alistair made no indication that he would lunge forward.

" And the critics say that _I'm_ unfit to rule," he sniffed instead, slowly lifting his chin, and when his eyes met Celene's this time, they were not glittering with jovial spite, but were hard, uncompromising meres of unforgiving disgust and condemnation. " You would take the life of the single greatest warrior of our time, when all of Thedas faces a darkspawn threat unlike any in history. You would extinguish all the hope that she has gifted to a people thought long bereft, and for what? The promise of a charlatan that she will hand over the only thing keeping her alive, so that you can have the power that she has lied, cheated and killed for?"

Rocking back on his heals, Alistair rose, his head intercepting some of those bright beams of light, revealing the truth of the empress' face in his significant shadow.

" No, I will not be doing any begging," he went on. " I am demanding, and when you utter your pathetic, inevitable rebuke as no doubt you will, clinging to the tatters of your pride, be I dead or alive, my army will watch the Architect's forces destroy your miserable city before ending his scourge once and for all."

Of course he had no intention of just abandoning the people or Orlais to the darkspawn, but Celene didn't need to know that.

There was silence when he finished as his words settled, and it was Anora who broke it with a series of slow claps.

" Well, well, whose spine did _you_ borrow?" she chuckled, sweeping her gaze from Alistair to Celene, sending the other woman a silent message that it was far too late to buckle now. Oh, if Celene gave in to Alistair then the people of Orlais would revolt against her; how incredibly embarrassing, how unbelievably demoralising it would be, to be thwarted by the words of a witless Ferelden bastard in her own capital city with victory so close.

" Was it Nathaniel's?" Anora grinned back at Alistair suggestively. " And don't tell me you never saw it Alistair, a Howe and a Cousland, mortal enemies, thrust together by duty, bound by passionate hate; what a perfect shoulder for her to cry on."

" I think you've mistaken me for someone you can manipulate Anora," Alistair sniffed, and looked back to Celene. " Have _you_?"

There was a short pause before Celene answered.

" Take him to see his wife," she declared eventually. " And announce to the people, that today they shall witness the spectacle they came for."

* * *

" That is a lot of Templars," Wynne noted quietly, and Fergus nodded. They had entered Val Royeaux with the rest of the crowd having donned less conspicuous attire. Shortly after the gates had closed behind them, supposedly securing the citizens within the city and keeping both the Ferelden army and the darkspawn out.

The covert Ferelden contingent had already split up, fanning out across the capital to ensure that they had as much coverage as possible, however, the largest group concentrated on the southern gates; it looked to Wynne as if the Orlesians were focused on keeping Ferelden out, rather than worrying about the near certainty of an attack from the darkspawn. If it came down that, then the gates would need to be destroyed so that Alistair's army could aid in the fight.

Wynne and Fergus had moved to jostle for a position with the locals in the city center, where Salana's crystal-bound body was kept 'safe' by mages and Templars both. There was no way to get to her, but that was not their part of Alistair's strategy anyway.

" She's not an animal to be put on display," Fergus growled under his breath, and the elder mage put her hand on his arm.

" Have faith in his Majesty," she said gently, pulling him towards the back of the excited mob. " Our job now is to check the tunnel entrance points and assess the viability of rescuing Warden Commander Howe and the other Grey Wardens."

Fergus grunted but did not fight her.

She had in her other hand the map of the city that Nathaniel had given to Alistair when he'd been in Denerim last, and it allowed them to move directly to each of the concealed tunnel entrances with ease.

There were three across the city, and they were pleased by the way the first two had been guarded. The last surface point, however, was completely deserted.

" Not even any bodies," Fergus noted, looking up and down the empty street outside the residential building. Both the blacksmith and the stable entrances had been fortified enough that the Ferelden pair had not been able to get very close, but at least that meant that any darkspawn trying to get into the city would have a hard time of it. The building that they now cautiously entered, however, was completely empty, and as they worked their way down into the basement where the tunnel actually began, they discovered why.

" Damn," Fergus exhaled, blinking at the neat line of Orlesian soldiers lying on the ground.

" They're not dead," Wynne reported, scrutinising them closely enough to detect breath.

" So Sigrun was sensing _merciful_ darkspawn?" Fergus shook his head, looking down the tunnel and then back at the row of apparently slumbering soldiers.

" No," Wynne frowned, also looking down the tunnel. " And it looks like they drew their weapons but did not use them, which suggests to me that whoever is responsible, probably engaged them in conversation first."

" Like those Disciples?"

Wynne shook her head again as she got to her feet, looking about for any other clues.

" The darkspawn don't have any reason not to kill Orlesians," she pointed out.

" Who else then? The king's plan was to enter the city via the gates with his army behind him."

" Perhaps he sent reinforcements," Wynne offered. " Though I'd have thought he wouldn't want any of these tunnels compromised. You return to the square, they will no doubt begin proceedings soon. I will organise a redistribution of our people to give at least some coverage to this position."

They left the Orlesians helpless, priorities elsewhere, but when they exited the residence they found that they were no longer alone.

" Nathaniel?" Wynne perked, lowering her hands that had been ready to fire arcane energy.

" Wynne?" Anders blurted. " What are you doing here?"

" It's good to see you too Anders, though I was under the impression that you were in Orlesian custody."

" Hello again sweet cheeks," Oghren grinned up at Wynne, and the mage rolled her eyes.

" If you're out here, then logic dictates that you came from within the tunnel," Wynne concluded. " Did you manage to meet with the king?"

Nathaniel nodded.

" They were expecting him to enter this way so security was light," he explained.

" They didn't quite know what to make of their escapees trying to get back into the city," Leliana chuckled quietly.

" Has Alistair been captured?" Nathaniel questioned, not sharing Leliana's joviality.

" They're siphoning people into the main square now," Fergus answered.

" He knew he was never going to get Celene to back down," Nathaniel exhaled, looking between the mage and Salana's brother. " Who else is with you?"

" Sigrun and a contingent of dwarves," Fergus replied. " As well as a number of mages, are positioned around the inside of the city walls. Their orders are to open up the gates in the event of a darkspawn attack, to allow our army access."

" So it's up to us then," Anders dropped a little skeptically. " I mean, the king is likely to be in chains, Salana is encased in crystal; we're not really banking on the Architect to stay their execution and then just hand them over to us are we?"

" I don't know about you Anders," Nathaniel sniffed, his jaw stiffening as he looked down the street to where trumpets had begun to sound. " But the king and queen of Ferelden stand on the brink, and it's going to take more than a city of despicable Orlesians, or an army of talking darkspawn to prevent me from rescuing them."

" We should go," Wynne urged, but the moment they stepped away, Fergus flinched to a standstill before lurching against the nearest building.

_" Hello big brother," Salana smiled, giving Fergus a tap on the shoulder._

_" I thought you were dead?" Fergus gasped, dragging her forward into his arms and hugging her tightly._

_" If got a gold piece for every time I've heard that lately," Salana said against his neck, and there might have been amusement in her tone, except for the seriousness of her next statement. " But I'd still be dead."_

_Fergus held her back at arm's length but did not release her, couldn't; she was his little sister and no matter how much she had grown somehow he always saw her in pigtails._

_" The Architect and his minions are already in the city," Salana told him plainly. " They are cloaked by the Architect's magic and since the Templars are so focused on…"_

_" The mages securing you, they're not looking for magically invisible enemies," Fergus finished. " Salana, how does this end?"_

_" The Architect will not reveal himself until my body is free from the crystal," she answered, without really answering him at all. " And when he does," she went on, apparently inhaling a deep breath. " I must ask you to do nothing."_

_" What?" he blinked, her request completely incomprehensible. " That creature is coming for you and we came to save you; we… I am not going to let them take you again."_

_" This is necessary," she told him, her face awash with sympathy. " You must ensure that Nathaniel and the others do not try to intervene, unless it is to follow Leliana's instructions."_

_" The lay sister?" he exhaled. " Salana, we came all this way, everyone who could bear arms for you, and you want us to do nothing?"_

_Salana tilted her head and smiled thinly._

_" Remember the time I broke that vase father brought mother from Antiva?" she inquired, and still more than a little baffled, Fergus nodded. " Even though you knew that you would be punished severely, you still told him that you were responsible. You told me that you would take care of it, and you missed out on competing in that tournament you'd been training for so hard."_

_She lifted her hands and took his face, much as she had Nathaniel's._

_" Now it is my turn to take care of it," she finished._

When Fergus blinked out of the haze it was directly into Nathaniel's face; the other man wore an expression that said he had a fair idea what had just happened.

" I saw her," he muttered breathily, rubbing a hand over his face, but there was little time to expand on his vision, as Leliana urged them all to the square.

* * *

It had all the pomp and ceremony of a coronation. A large platform with its back to the gates of the palace had been erected, and draped in deep red velvet; the guillotine stood upon it proudly in the center, slanted blade glistening in the mid afternoon sunlight.

Celene walked regally from the palace, across the yard and up behind the platform where she was greeted with the roar of cheering and applause. The people didn't know the intricacies behind what they were about to witness; all they knew was their ruler had captured a foreigner who had brought darkspawn terror to their lives.

Alistair did not struggle as he was escorted by Albain and Arturu up the side of the platform, where he was positioned next to the guillotine. He did not fear execution; even if all of his assumptions about what would eventuate were wrong, he stared upon Salana still encased in her solid prison, and had to believe that this was not how it ended for them.

" Just over thirty years ago," Celene began, her voice carrying across the square even to the very back where Nathaniel and the others had taken up position. " Ferelden was pried from Orlais' grip by the father of this man."

She pointed to Alistair, and the weight of over a thousand eyes pressed against Alistair's skin, but his own gaze did not deviate from Salana.

" A bastard king, whose queen you now see before you entombed," the empress continued, and the crowd looked beyond the circle of Templars and mages to Salana's obliesk. " There is a queen, whose reputation speaks of bravery and great prowess in battles against the darkspawn, and yet, it was _she_ who brought the darkspawn to our empire, _she_ who has inflicted pestilence and taint upon the good people of Orlais. She has fallen into the pit of vile corruption and served the darkspawn Architect in an attempt to not only destroy the Grey Warden order, but to turn it into her own army of hybrid monsters that would reap anguish upon us all."

Alistair bit his tongue, and finally allowed his focus to move away from his wife. There was pure hate in the eyes of the people before him, but he was not really looking at them, not looking for them.

" Today I give you justice," Celene declared triumphantly. " Upon the bride of darkspawn and the Ferelden king who has marched his army upon us to save her."

The empress turned her head.

" Break her free," she commanded, and the Templars in the circle all turned inward with their swords drawn, while the mages who had been preventing Salana's taint from spreading, changed the course of their magic.

" This will have to be swift my Empress," a mage at Celene's shoulder advised. " There is no telling just how quickly her taint may spread to the Grey Wardens once she is released."

" Oh it will be swift," Celene smirked, a smile that broadened as fissures began to form across the surface of the sapphire column.

When it shattered there was a ripple of gasps from the crowd, that the Templars quickly began to part, forming a path from the lifeless body of the Grey Warden Commander to her ultimate death.

" We just gonna stand here?" Oghren growled, and Leliana, Nathaniel and Fergus all looked down at him. " I'll take that as a yes, but it might be nice if Sparkly Skirt here and I were let in on the secret."

" This is what her Majesty wants," Leliana answered gently, placing her hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

" She wants to get her head cut off?" Anders perked.

" No," Nathaniel dropped, looking to where two massive Templars carried Salana's body past Alistair to the other side of the guillotine. " She wants us to have faith that this is how things need to be."

Alistair had to use all of his self-control not to shake off the men that held him, in order to reclaim his wife, and Celene read as much from the tight clench of his jaw.

" It will all be over soon," she smiled sweetly before looking back to the crowd; but her people in awe were not all that she saw.

" You're right," a smooth, calm voice declared from behind her. " It will all be over soon."

Panic erupted as all around the packed city square, Disciples appeared out of nowhere, Hurlocks, Genlocks and grizzled, filth covered ogres at their backs; and the Architect, brushed aside the Templars with green flame, before picking up Salana's body with seeming care.

As the Orlesian mob screamed and howled, threatening to turn in on itself, even as those capable of bearing arms readied retaliation, Disciples took control of the royal platform, disarming everyone. Albain was pried away from Alistair, and they were both taken by former Grey Wardens, men and women now twisted and tainted almost beyond recognition.

" This is actually an improvement," Alistair noted with surprisingly lightness, even managing a thin smile as Celene was roughly set upon and dragged in beside him.

With her life very much in jeopardy, a woman not suited to being at the centre of a battle, her forces in and around the crowd fell still.

" Such sacrilege that you would destroy something of such potential for a personal vendetta," the Architect maligned, looking coolly to the struggling empress who fell still beneath his scrutiny. " Power does not come to those who merely wish it," the creature continued. " But to those who deserve."

" You think you deserve her?" Alistair snorted loudly; he had to allow those that Wynne and Fergus had brought into the city time enough to break through the gates and alert the armies waiting outside. " No one does! There is not a single person in all of Thedas worthy…"

He lifted his head and glanced out across the frightened crowd, and in that moment, at the very back, he spied Nathaniel.

" … Not even me."

This seemed to have no effect upon the Architect at all, but that had not been Alistair's intention. Still, he glowered past Celene to Salana's body, wilted in the the monster's arms. The creature cradled her with seeming tenderness but how could it possibly know emotion like that?

Its lips parted once more, perhaps to make some declaration of victory, but no words were spoken as its attention was drawn to a nebulous black shape that rose slowly up out of the frightened crowd.

Nathaniel had seen the shade seep from the large bundle that Leliana had insisted she alone carry, and suddenly felt a surge of hope. The Architect had upper hand, and yet Salana's will returned; still, his stomach clenched and her brief words to him from inside the tunnel echoed with sadness.

For a moment the shadow hovered above the people, perhaps so that everyone could get a good look at it before it made its move. When it did, it was swift, a dark smear across the heads of the mob; but it did not take the straightest path, instead slamming into Alistair's body.

_The world shuddered to a standstill, and Alistair opened his eyes to find Salana standing before him, even though he could see her also hugged limply against the Architect's chest just over her shoulder._

_He had so much to say, but every single statement caught in his throat._

_" I know," she smiled sadly, her own voice wavering. " And this will not be easy for you."_

_" I don't deserve easy," he blurted, stretching out his hands, but he did not move any closer to her, no matter how much he wanted to. " Even though…"_

_He could have told her right there that he now knew he had not willingly betrayed her, but it seemed so insignificant now; his apology to her indeed did not stem from a need to bring himself relief, and so an explanation now that cleared him of his crime was redundant._

_" My body is poison," she told him. " Already too many Grey Wardens have been turned, and the Architect will use me to continue the process until we are all corrupted. It must die."_

_" I came here to save you," he choked out, feeling her instructions even before she had spoken them._

_" You have a greater duty than that now," she told him, and though her lips quivered to see the pain in his eyes as he pre-empted her, she drew herself up taller. " Not just to me or Ferelden, but to Orlais, Anderfels, all of Thedas."_

_When she stepped forwards and placed her hand against his cheek, it was as if all the cold, all of the guilt was lifted from his heart._

_" Take Duncan's sword," she instructed softly. " And kill me."_

_" I can't," he said through his teeth._

_" You can," she assured him, her gentle warm breath against his lips. " I have faith."_

_" I love you," he declared, only now closing his fingers around her upper arms, only now truly daring to delve into her eyes._

Alistair flinched when the world restarted, the tears in his eyes momentarily unfocusing the image of the shade ripping through his body and settling into the body that was its own.

He held his breath as Salana stirred, everyone did, watching in silence; her eyes opened and fixed upon him.

" And I you," she whispered, so small a sound and yet a song that exploded within the king like a heavenly choir.

Nathaniel could not hear what Salana had uttered, but like everyone else remained transfixed upon her and the Architect's reaction, until Leliana began to move. Even as Alistair slammed his elbow back and up under the Disciple's chin, and turned to snatch Duncan's sword from the Genlock that had confiscated it from Arturu, Nathaniel glanced to the Orlesian beside him.

" Is that the…" he began in disbelief, as she revealed what she had been carrying all that time.

" The Urn of Sacred Ashes yes," Leliana confirmed, looking from Nathaniel to Fergus. " Now is the time."

" Here we go," Oghren grinned, digging his axe out from under his cloak.

" What's he doing?" Anders blinked, his eyes still fixed upon Salana and the closing king.

" Maker," Nathaniel uttered, holding his breath.

As the point of Duncan's sword approached Salana's chest, the Architect tried to shield her; but there was no hesitation in Alistair's attack. He wanted more than anything for there to be a happy ending, for fact to reflect the images in his mind of the perfect world that they should have shared, but he would not break her faith in him a second time.

She closed her eyes as the dragonbone blade slid effortlessly through her armor, through her skin, between her ribs and impaled her heart. There was pain but it was transitory, forced into the background by Alistair's grip on her shoulder as he ensured the weapon passed through her completely.

" I'm sorry," he sobbed thickly against her neck, but was given no further time to hold her as the Architect flung out his arm and knocked the king from the platform.

" Kill them ALL!" he roared in an uncharacteristic display of fervent emotion, all his plans dashed as Salana's body sank, sank and bled.

The first to rise, however, were not the Disciples nor the darkspawn behind them, but a large stone container thrown strenuously into the air.

" The last of Andraste's grace, the Maker gifts to thee," Leliana whispered, then followed with a commanding shout. " Fire!"

Though his vision was also blurred by tears, Nathaniel lifted his bow and loosed. Straight and true, the large arrow point slammed into the Urn that shattered, showering the crowd before the platform with stone fragments, and releasing a cloud of ash that did not fall.

As Alistair was set upon by three Disciples, the cloud rose higher, turning quickly until it seemed to burn. Ignited, the whirlwind suddenly constricted to a single, vivid point, like a star hanging above the city.

Beneath it, Orlesians and Fereldens fought side by side against the darkspawn, despite the empress' terrible ploy.

Enraged at this end, both Nathaniel and Alistair roared their sorrow fiercely, slashing great devastation against the flesh of Disciples with whom they had once been brothers. Celene had fled surrounded by a heavy entourage, royalty without sacrifice for her people who remained to defend themselves and their city.

Calm once more, even as the armies of two kingdoms united against his hybrids, the Architect wrapped spindly fingers around the neck of the fallen Ferelden queen and lifted her from the ground. There was no color in her cheeks and her dead-weight limbs swung as he gave her a shake; it produced the desired effect.

Incensed, Alistair drove Duncan's sword through the sneering maw of the Disciple before him, and using the shoulders of its falling body to vault himself over the crowd, he took once more to the platform.

" You've defiled her enough!" the king snarled, slicing the arm off the Hurlock that attempted to bar his path, before kicking it aside.

" Foolish king," the Architect sniffed, but he did not continue as a lone beam of light shone down from that burning pinpoint above them all, and fell upon the body of the queen.

" Touch her with fire that she be cleansed," Leliana exhaled, spellbound as the fiery ashes of Andraste dropped from the sky and rushed suddenly towards Salana's body.

The blinding shock wave threw everyone from their feet, and the heat illusion continued to ripple across the square as Alistair rolled onto his back. His eyes were burning when he opened them, but it was not the tall shadow of the still standing Architect that brought him further grief. He was allowed time to blink but once more, before the body of his beautiful wife, love beyond his ability to express, was filled with fire before disintegrating from toe to top.

The Architect closed his now empty grip and turned his attention to the distraught man at his feet.

" Now _none_ of us shall have her," Alistair choked out, scrambling upright once more, but it was not he who struck the monster.

Brighter than the sun that seemed to dim in the sky, that same fire began to burn at the Architect's core, before jumping to the next closest darkspawn.

All around the square and out into the streets of the city, Orlesians and Ferelden's alike put up their swords, as that serpentine flame of retribution linked their enemies to a single fate.

" She will know peace," Alistair coughed, glaring up at the immobilised Architect and raising Duncan's sword. " But not you."

The creature could give no response, nor could it move to avoid Alistair's final blow. Its body, however infused with logic and intelligence, was tainted just as deeply as any of the darkspawn that the king had killed before it.

The blade that had killed his wife, turned its wrath upon the monster.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**Reward**

_There was nothing left in the world but white, but Salana did not stand alone in the shapeless expanse. The woman before her looked somewhat familiar, though Salana was sure she had never actually met her in person; still, there was no doubt in her mind who this woman was._

" _So this is what _really_ dead is like?" Salana perked, and her tone was light._

_Though she had left her world behind, she did not feel the weight that she had in life. Alistair was gone and so was Nathaniel. Ferelden and Orlais were gone and so were the darkspawn, and though she thought that she should have felt some sorrow, it was not so._

_Andraste smiled a proud smile, a sparkle in it that suggested she knew something that Salana didn't._

" _You're smirking," Salana pointed out, but it was not she who responded._

" _Because you have achieved what you set out to achieve," Duncan said, fading through the bright shroud and appearing at her right shoulder. " And not because I asked you to."_

" _So what now? We're dead and so we dwell here?" she inquired, peering around at the nothingness._

" _Though the darkness came upon you," Andraste finally spoke. " You embraced the light. You weathered the storm. You endured. For what the Maker created, no one can tear asunder." (Trials 1:10)_

" _You have drawn your last breath," Duncan continued. " Crossed the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky…"_

_Salana frowned and she looked between the two._

" _You're about to say 'but'," she noted._

" _But," Andraste affirmed. " You may not yet rest at the Maker's right hand."_

" _What else is there if not death?" Salana huffed, throwing up her hands. " It's not that I'm asking to be rewarded, but if the Maker has further expectations, it might be nice to have a little more detail."_

_Duncan laughed._

" _You are still that same woman I met in Highever," he declared, smiling at her fondly._

" _No," Salana disagreed, reaching inward, in an instant reflecting upon her entire life, and all of the lives that she might have led had Duncan not recruited her. " I'm not. I don't think that she would ever have done these things."_

" _Like desecrating my remains?" Andraste inquired._

_Salana cringed, looking to the other woman._

" _Sorry about that, but it was the only way I could think to reverse the darkspawn taint in the flesh and minds of the Disciples."_

" _Salana," Andraste began, leveling her gaze. " In my life, I gave people the language of hope and promise, but so much has happened now that it is hard for their burdened hearts to hear the messages I left behind so long ago. What they need now is to see, an example to remind them that they have not truly been abandoned._

_You have given your life, just as I did, but like me, you too shall fade in their memories and they shall fall once more to despair. Words are no longer enough."_

" _I have no breath left for words anyway," Salana pointed out._

" _But you will," Duncan declared, and Salana looked to him as Andraste continued to speak._

" _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written." (Benedictions 4:10-11)_

" _And in my blood the Maker writes what?"_

" _Through my death I gave meaning to sacrifice, and now, through _life_ you shall do the same."_

Alistair's palms burned as he pushed Duncan's sword deep within the Architect's body. Each creature now joined together by Salana's flame was completely engulfed, writhing and screaming for mercy; and to some came an answer.

Hurlocks, Genlocks, Ogres and their kin were reduced to ash as the light receded, charred shapes that fell apart beneath the ministrations of a soft breath of wind; but it was not so for the Disciples.

Nathaniel had heard how Salana had used the ashes of Andraste to cure Arl Eamon, to bring him from the very verge of death, and now he understood why she had been so insistent that they follow Leliana's instructions. The Architect had used her body to reach out to all the Grey Wardens across Thedas and drive the darkspawn taint to transform them into monsters; Salana had used her body and the healing power of those ashes to cure them of their afflictions.

They were Wardens once more, falling to their knees, confused but very much alive, very much human; and all it had cost was Salana's ultimate sacrifice.

The Architect was the last to crumble, but as he did, some of the light that had burned within him lingered in the air. It was faint at first, and without form, but as Alistair wept, on hands and knees with his head hanging, comforting warmth drew the agony from his soul.

A figure crouched before him, reaching out its hand, and lifted his chin gently.

" Maker's breath," Wynne exhaled, Leliana grinning beside her, and everyone in the crowd watched on in awed silence. Even the soldiers that flooded toward the city centre from outside the capital's walls, skidded to a halt to observe.

Her perfect lips formed a perfect smile, and there was no accusation in her eyes that were open to him once more. Alistair opened his mouth but words got stuck in his throat, tangled in the tidal wave of emotion that towered over him threatening to break.

" Am I really seeing this?" Anders marveled, pawing at Wynne's arm, but she did not answer him, almost hypnotized by this reunion and the radiant figures that stood behind Salana like guards of honor.

" That's…" Leliana began.

Alistair's left hand trembled as he slowly lifted it, moving it towards Salana's face, but he looked to the man behind her as he spoke.

" _You have both come so far,"_ the old Grey Warden smiled in a fatherly tone. _" And I am proud."_

" _For your faith,"_ Andraste beamed, motioning Salana to Alistair, who immediately lurched forward and scooped his wife into his arms.

" Don't ever ask me to kill you again," he hissed into her ear, and Salana chuckled as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

" Aww," Leliana gushed, hugging on Fergus' arm.

Oghren and Anders, however, were both now looking at Nathaniel, who had turned and was walking in the direction of the southern gates.

" Someone has to meet with the generals," he declared without looking back.

" Hey wait for me!" Anders called, running after him, and Oghren followed.

As they did, they were forced to weave through Orlesians slowly lowering to their knees. They would never have seen Andraste's face before, nor ever heard her voice, but somehow they saw her now and knew that Salana bore her blessing; the Maker's blessing.

The whispers spread until even soldiers from both kingdoms in peripheral streets had heard, that the queen of Ferelden had sacrificed herself to cure the Grey Wardens, and returned from the Fade to stand among the people like a beacon of light.

" I don't care if we never move again," Salana sighed, despite how uncomfortable it felt folded against Alistair's heavily armored chest.

" Let's tie up these loose ends," he said softly, smoothing her hair, unable to stop grinning. " And then go home."

* * *

Flanked by a contingent of Grey Wardens from various nations, including Orlais, Salana and Alistair strode unhindered into Celene's palace. The brunt of Ferelden's forces that had entered the city during the Architect's attack, had now retreated to the port in a sign of good faith, though some remained under Fergus' command; there were still some things left unresolved.

The empress was waiting for them in her throne room, along with a sizeable group of soldiers that included Arturu, Albain, and now General Francois. Others Salana has passed in the corridors had bowed their heads as she passed, some of lower stature even genuflecting, and now she saw in the eyes of those men who had fled the main stage to protect their ruler, a struggle with the compulsion to do the same.

" Perhaps we can try this diplomacy thing again," Alistair declared, when the percussion of moving armor had ceased. The desire to carve a path of destruction across Celene's face flashed ever so briefly in his mind, but was swiftly overwhelmed by a swelling sense of munificence; a sentiment that he had not been able to find in the face of Loghain; Salana gifted him that.

Celene held out a little longer, before her response was pre-empted by Albain.

" The Grey Wardens of Orlais are ever indebted to her Majesty for our lives," he announced in an exceptional display of humility, making eye contact with Salana first and then Alistair. " And to his Majesty for his perseverance, that ultimately prevented us from destroying our only hope."

" The Grey Wardens of _all_ Thedas owe their lives," Trystan said from behind Alistair, the man who had been dragged off by the darkspawn now full restored.

Still Celene remained quiet, swallowing her pride not coming nearly so easily, but she was going to have to respond to what happened next.

" We have seen enough to know the difference between evil and good," Albain continued. " But chose to allow that evil a place in _our own_ hearts in service to a desire for power."

Slowly, mobility somewhat encumbered by the bulk of his armor, Warden Commander Albain dropped to one knee and lowered his chin, beside Celene, but facing Salana.

" A black and terrible stain upon us all," he said. " And we shall strive tirelessly to find redemption until our last breath."

Arturu followed Albain's motion, and the Wardens behind the pair of Ferelden royals did the same, but as General Francois, his soldiers and the mages in attendance, joined them in this display of respect and contrition, Celene rose from her seat to stand above them all.

In _her_ throne room.

In _her_ capital.

In _her_ empire.

_Her_ people bowed to foreigners.

It was treason.

She swallowed hard and appeared to be trembling as she finally spoke for herself.

" I have erred," she said, her voice quiet, for she thought if she raised it any louder it might break, that _she_ might break. " And it is my shame to bear," she continued, the extravagant lace of her gown fanning out around her as she accepted what could not be denied any longer. " And I _shall_ bear it."

" Get up," Salana instructed, and though there was the undertone of a commander in her voice, there was no anger; just as Alistair had exacted revenge upon Loghain, Salana could easily have justified ripping Celene's head off, but really, sending Orlais into internal political turmoil would only punish the people. " I don't want, nor do I _need_ to be bowed to," she went on clearly, motioning with her hand that they all rise.

" That isn't why she came here, and that isn't my armies marched upon your city," Alistair pointed out.

" Andraste was right when she said that the people have forgotten the legacy she left behind," Salana continued. " Even here in the very birth place of the Chantry, but I am not a prophet."

" No," Alistair agreed. " You are a leader."

" A beacon," Marceau added.

" And a warning," Alistair finished.

" I am the _example_," Salana summed up.

Celene nodded her head shallowly; she could not argue with what they said, not if she wanted to claim to posses even a modicum of personal integrity.

Lying to others was one thing, but lying to oneself was the realm of delusion.

" Then it _is_ true," a sensible woman's voice declared, a voice belonging to the grey haired woman who had entered the throne room unannounced along with her own entourage of Chantry robed figures and Templars.

" Most Holy," Celene exhaled looking from the woman to Salana, who had turned with her husband to inspect the new arrivals.

" The Divine," Alistair seconded, though his addition was much more subtle, meant mostly for Salana.

Though the first emperor of Orlais, Kordillus Drakon, had created the Chantry, it was a religious body, not a political one, irrespective of how it often appeared. The Divine, head of the Chantry, did not answer to Celene, or vice versa, but there had been plenty in the crowd who had witnessed Salana and her miracle and reported it to Her Perfection.

" The truth is what we choose to see in fact," Salana told the woman from where she stood unmoved at Alistair's side. " Not fact itself."

" Spoken like a true…" the Divine began, but Salana cut her off, much to the shock of the sisters and Templars behind the woman.

" Woman who has spent far too long from her home," Salana filled in, pre-empting the woman's requests or insistence that she be allowed to monopolise her time with matters of a spiritual nature. " Forgive me Most Holy, but there is yet much to be seen to before I may return to Ferelden."

" You belong to all of Thedas now," the Divine pointed out, reading Salana well enough to know she would get nowhere by pushing.

" I know where my duties lie," Salana assured her, shifting her gaze once more to familiar figures skirting the Chantric group.

" My king, my queen," Fergus acknowledged, as if they were truly the only ones in the room, and Wynne, Sigrun and Leliana accompanied him.

" Shale?" Alistair perked, and was answered in part by the shake of Wynne's head.

" There is a trail of pummeled darkspawn corpses leading away from where she was being held," the mage explained. " All the way to the tunnel that Warden Commander Howe escaped through."

Salana frowned.

" It's not like Shale to just leave when there are heads to be squashed," she noted in an off-hand tone that caused the Divine to blink in surprise.

" We know why she did," Leliana said, and the Divine's attention shifted to the native Orelsian, even though it was Fergus who continued the explanation.

" The mages were trying to recreate a control rod," he elucidated. " And not having much luck according to one of two mages who wasn't beaten into a pulpy mess, until Anora paid them a visit."

" Oh no," Alistair dropped, and Salana fully shared his sentiment.

" They don't know how or where she got her information from," Fergus continued, but Sigrun interrupted him.

" No dwarf in his or her right mind would help that wench," she very nearly spat.

" It looks as if a control rod _was_ completed, and that Anora used it, and Shale, to flee the city while everyone else was fixed on the impending execution."

Salana's heart sank and she closed her eyes, even though it meant that everyone in that chamber saw her distress. Alistair shared in her nausea; the idea that Anora was waddling around the countryside with a golem at her command, carrying _his_ child and heir to the Ferelden throne, made him want to bring up his breakfast.

" She will be found," Celene asserted decisively, finally finding some strength again. " And returned post haste, _with_ the child and the golem, to your feet for judgment."

There was nothing in Celene's recent history that suggested they could trust her, and she must have known that they would insist upon leaving agents to hunt Anora down themselves.

When Salana opened her eyes, her focus was upon Alistair, who heard her request even though her lips did not part.

" Ferelden will begin its formal withdrawal," he declared, looking back to Celene. " Though as you no doubt already know, I will be leaving my own people to hunt Anora."

" Of course," Celene nodded. " Anything they need, they shall have access to."

Alistair then slipped his hand around Salana's and gave it a squeeze.

" Let's go home."

* * *

While the Ferelden army boarded its ships, while Salana and Alistair confronted Celene, and while Fergus and the others had searched for Anora, Nathaniel had busied himself with helping clear the dead darkspawn off the streets and onto a pyre outside the city gates.

He had focused single-mindedly on dragging and lifting and stacking, if only to keep his thoughts from wandering too far, though he was reminded every now and then by a glance from Oghren or Anders. Now that the corpses were burned and the ships had begun to depart, however, he could avoid her no longer.

The royal ship was to be the last to leave, and all but he now had boarded. Inhaling a lungful of salty air, Nathaniel peered across the gangplank and onto the deck. Through narrowed eyes he could see the mark that his own arrow had made in one of the masts, and despite his best intentions, despite honestly bearing Alistair no ill will, he felt some measure of regret.

" You're not coming back with us are you?" Salana said quietly from behind him, and slowly, Nathaniel turned.

" No," he affirmed. " His Majesty has granted me permission to lead the hunt for Anora."

Salana bit her lower lip, struggling for the right words, but again he saved her.

" I meant what I said," he told her soberly, but he stood tall; he was not a man defeated. " I owe you my redemption, and I owe you the world, seen through the eyes of a man who has known something in his life greater than himself."

" It is so easy," Salana said thickly, shifting her feet. " For those who have not known sacrifice, to talk of duty."

" But we live it, so that they do not have to," he smiled, and though sad, his tone still had a wry edge to it. " _You_ have taught me that."

" You will come back, right?" she asked, for though she could read much from his face and his guarded eyes, she could not definitively determine if the unfairness of his situation might drive him to stay away from Ferelden for good.

" You have my solemn promise," he declared staunchly. " Before the child's first birthday, it and Anora Mac Tir will be returned to Denerim."

" Thank you," she whispered. " I only wish I could give you more."

Far at Nathaniel's back, Alistair stepped out onto the deck of his ship, wondering what was keeping Salana who he had been disinclined to let from his sight in the first place. He found her, and Nathaniel saying their final, heart-felt goodbyes, and though on the surface no one would have blamed Alistair for feeling jealousy at the way his wife looked at the other man, he did not.

Nathaniel had come to him with his request, and in that request Alistair found that final piece of confirmation. Nathaniel loved his wife, and Alistair knew how awesomely consuming that felt; yet he asked permission to stay abroad, in service to the crown, far far away from what which he most desired, but knew he could not have.

Alistair respected that, and could not decide what would be worse, the idea of living without Salana in the wake of her death, or living without her knowing that she was happy with someone else.

" Thedas now has its rock, against which it may brace in times of darkness," Nathaniel told Salana formally, reaching out and taking her hand. " But I pray that you shall find only light."

He bowed and brushed his lips against the back of her hand before releasing it and stepping around her.

" And I shall pray the same for you," she exhaled, just loud enough for his retreating ears to hear.

She was still wiping her cheeks when Alistair met her on the other side of the gangplank, and sailors began final preparations for departure.

" It is any wonder the whole world does not love you as much as he and I," the king told her gently, swiping his thumb across her cheek. " You will see him again."

" I know," she agreed softly, turning her face into his hand, not needing to further express her appreciation for his understanding.

" In the mean time, Leliana is having a difficult time controlling her excitement," he went on, his tone now light and mischievous, and Salana allowed him to sweep her away her sorrows. " Apparently, her Most Holy has charged her with recording every word you utter, and scouring it for profundity."

" Oh no," Salana groaned, but chuckled as Alistair wrapped his arm around her waist and turned her to the bow.

The anchor was raised and sails unfurled, and from the shore Nathaniel watched until the turn of the royal vessel obscured Salana's figure completely.

" Supporting characters never get much of the credit," Oghren grunted, he and Anders emerging from the scrub like a pair of stalkers to join their former Warden Commander.

He looked at them both as they approached, eyebrows raised high.

" You didn't think we were just going let you wander off into the wilderness alone did ya?" Oghren smirked.

" Besides," Anders added, looking from the dwarf, to Nathaniel. " I need a second opinion… Does this robe make me look fat?"

Nathaniel shook his head and laughed, before exhaling a long breath. The two other Grey Wardens grinned at him, both eager to cheer up the man who had given up so much.

" Come on," he inhaled, rolling his neck and looking back at the rapidly diminishing ship. " I made a promise that I do not mean to break."

**_THE END_**

* * *

**_AUTHOR NOTE: _**_I'm not all that fond of epilogues; I think that to a large extent they take away from the power of a story's ending (which is in large part what happened at the end of both Origins and Awakening; gah they were both appalling)._

_So, I'm going to shift what I might have put in an epilogue here, in the sequel that has been cooking in my brain since half way through this story.  
_

_Hope you enjoyed 'Those born to duty'; stay turned._

_** Last minute addition; if there is anything that anyone would like to see in the sequel, I welcome suggestions, just throw me a message and I'll see what I can do._

**To find the sequel, check my profile or search 'The Maker's Example'... I'd have linked it but they won't let me!**

**_~ Sentogray_**


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